You Have (Not) Failed This 'Verse
by so caffeinated
Summary: Sometimes a payday ain't exactly what it seems.
1. Chapter 1

Tags: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Sara Lance, Malcolm Reynolds, Zoe Washburne, Kaylee Frye, River Tam, Jayne Cobb, warning: Jayne is sort of a prick, because he's Jayne, humor, fandom fusion, unbetaed, AU in so many ways, Arrow/Firefly crossover, because why not, there's a strong possibility I might play more in this 'verse, because there are so many possible fantastic character interactions I couldn't get to

* * *

"Felicity, a little faster, please?" Oliver's annoyed voice demands from right over her shoulder.

He's hovering. The anxiety is rolling off him in _waves_ and it's more than a little suffocating. And, okay, she gets it. This is a horrible situation and it's incredibly time sensitive and he's counting on her and that's _fair_ but it also makes her job like 75% harder, which is not a thing she needs right now.

She huffs in frustration, blowing a loose lock of blonde hair out of her face, but never looking away from the monitor in front of her as her fingers fly over the keys.

"Their system makes _no_ sense," she counters, strain evident in her voice. "Hacking in was easy enough, but it's like someone pieced together the worst possible pieces of equipment and crossed their fingers really hard that it would work. And - _boom_ \- magically it did."

"Are you telling me you can't get that ship out of the sky?" Oliver asks.

"I'm _telling you_ I can't understand how it's flying in the first place," Felicity responds pointedly. "But… if I override her primary power conduit and reroute it to-"

"You can get the it down?" Oliver interrupts.

"If you want to boil it down to _basics_."

" _Felicity_."

"So touchy today. Yes, I can get it down," she replies with a few sure keystrokes.

And, sure enough, the hunk of rusted metal masquerading as a ship that was _somehow_ evading them so far over the unforgiving desert of rural Whitefall suddenly loses power. The ship drops, skidding through barren terrain and leaving a cloud of dust in her wake.

"Good work," Digg says as he maneuvers their ship to land next to the fallen one.

"Keep it on the ground, Felicity," Oliver orders over his shoulder as he pulls his hood up to obscure his face.

 _Obviously_ she's going to keep it on the ground. That's, like, the entire point of all of this. She doesn't need to be told that. But it's the Alpha-Omega they're hunting down and that has put Oliver in a _mood_. So, she lets it slide. After a few years doing this with Team Arrow, she's learned to pick her battles. Sometimes.

"Don't die of heat stroke!" She calls out cheerily instead, earning a raised eyebrow from Oliver as Digg, Roy and Sara fall into step beside him.

"It's… super hot out there," Felicity clarifies. "And with the hood and the leather. I can't even imagine how you're going to get all that off. Which, I mean… I'm not thinking about taking off your clothes. It's just with leather and sweat… I'm not actually thinking about you being all sweaty either. Just-"

"Felicity," Digg says mercifully, interrupting her verbal downward spiral.

"Right. Just… go get that bio-weapon away from the big bad mercenaries," Felicity says, regrouping. "I'll be right here in the lovely air conditioned ship, keeping their ship on the ground and not thinking about Oliver's pants."

The tight curl of Oliver's lips might not be classified by most people as a smile, but Felicity knows better. And earning anything other than a growl or a scowl from Oliver today is something she calls a personal victory.

* * *

Felicity hadn't been wrong. It's _hot_. And - yeah - he's going to be peeling the leather off of himself later. But that's a problem for later. Right now? Right now there's a crate full of the Alpha-Omega bio-weapon in the hull of a rusted out ship they've just downed and they're going to get it back and destroy it.

They have to.

But, he realizes instantly as the mercenaries from the other ship shoot at them from the relative safety of their cargo bay, it's not exactly going to be easy. He doubts these people even know what they have. He _hopes_ they don't. But they're sure as hell going to fight to defend their payday.

"Three?" Roy asks, daring a glance out their own loading bay before pulling back.

"Two men and a woman that I see," Digg confirms. "And they're packing some _serious_ weapons."

Oliver looks thoroughly unimpressed by Digg's estimation.

"We need them out in the open," Sara calls out. "Charging in is a death sentence and I can't do anything from here."

Roy nocks an explosive Arrow with a sharp nod, but Oliver stays the other man's hand immediately.

"Can't risk hitting the Alpha-Omega," he says. "I've got it."

It's not an explosive arrow that Oliver lets loose. It's a smoke bomb instead.

The crates in the cargo bay are totally undamaged. So are the people, for that matter, but three of them stumble out through the smoke, coughing and holding their weapons at the ready.

"Kaylee! Get the _gorram_ engines runnin'!" A man in a brown leather coat calls back toward the ship as he edges his way toward the side of the ship, aiming to use it as cover.

"Ain't got no power goin' to the engines, Captain," an absurdly young sounding woman's voice calls back. "She's all revved up but she ain't goin' nowhere. It's like she's all dressed up but there ain't no party happenin'."

"Well fix it, then!" He counters. "Throw her a shindig or whatever. Just do the thing where you make it work!"

"I ain't the one who broke it!" Kaylee counters. "They did somethin'. It's more than just mechanics, Cap'n."

"Hand over the crate and no one gets hurt. We'll let you _and_ your ship go," Oliver growls loudly toward the other man.

"Beg to differ," the man counters. "You broke my ship! I ain't a vengeful man on the regular, but for you I'm thinkin' I might have to make an exception."

"That would be a poor choice," Oliver counters back, bowstring pulled taut as he takes aim toward the other ship's captain.

"That's… is that an _actual_ bow and arrow? That's a thing you're pointing at me right now?" The captain blinks. "While wearing a mask? And you think _I'm_ the one makin' poor choices? That's one helluva fashion statement."

"Cap'n, you might be wantin' to be a bit more cautious," the well-armed woman a few feet away from him says.

"Now when've you ever known me to possess that particular quality, Zoe?" He asks her, glancing her direction with a wholly incredulous look.

"Might've been hopin' for some well-timed personal growth, Captain," she counters, eyeing Oliver and his teammates with apprehension. "These ain't just mercs or smugglers."

"No they ain't," the bulky man with a gun the size of Oliver's entire bow says as he blatantly ogles Sara.

She sneers in response, lip curling until she shows teeth as she twirls her staff with precision and barely contained malice. Proving he completely lacks any sense of self-preservation, the man grunts in approval and nods with a leer in Sara's direction.

"Probably best to keep your eyes to yourself, Jayne, if you intend to keep them," Zoe tells him.

"Lookin' ain't gonna do no harm," Jayne replies.

"Believe me. It will," Sara replies dryly, threat obvious in her words.

"You gonna smack me with your stick?" He asks tauntingly. "My gun's bigger."

"Size isn't everything," Sara replies.

"Ain't met a woman yet who held that opinion and really meant it," Jayne responds.

And… yeah, Sara might kill this idiot. She really might. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver can see her muscles tense as she readies to advance. The captain of the other ship must see it too, though, because he reigns in his man.

"Luckily for you, I ain't thinkin' that's true," the captain tells Jayne.

"Hey!" Jayne protests in offense.

"Seriously, Jayne? Not the time," the captain tells him. "You're needin' either shore leave or manners. One of those I can't give you. The other one ain't sunk in despite your momma's best efforts."

"Mal!" Jayne protests hotly.

"Callin' it like I see it, Jayne," the captain - Mal - responds. "What would your momma do if she was here?"

"Prob'ly knit her a sweater," Jayne says, nodding toward Sara.

"They're stalling for time," Digg says quietly from Oliver's side.

"I know," Oliver confirms lowly.

"We got ourselves at a bit of an impasse, seems like," Mal says. "We ain't after any trouble. Just a payday. We stole those medical supplies from the Alliance fair 'n square and it seems real unsportsmanlike for you fine folks to go stealin' it back."

"News over the wires seems like you folks ain't the kinda people'd have a problem with stealin' from the Alliance anyhow," Zoe points out from next to Mal, earning a confused look from her companions. "These folks ain't just mercs and smugglers, like I said. They're anti-Alliance vigilantes."

"I got me a conundrum then," Mal says looking back and forth between the woman at his side and Oliver's hooded figure. "Why, precisely, are we pointin' weapons in each other's faces?"

"Because those aren't medical supplies," Oliver tells him. "They're biological weapons."

"They're penicillin," Mal counters warily after a beat.

"It's the Alpha-Omega. We've been tracking it for weeks," Sara speaks up.

"What's to say that's the truth of it?" Mal asks.

"Ever seen penicillin?" Digg asks.

"I surely have," the captain replies back.

"You might wanna open the crate then and take a look," Digg responds. "But be careful when you do."

"Jayne," Mal calls out, nodding toward the crate inside the cargo bay.

"Why do I gotta do it?" The larger man whines.

"Cause your captain said to," Zoe tells him.

"What she said," Mal agrees.

Jayne grumbles but complies, stalking over to a crate and prying the lid off. Still training her gun on Oliver, Zoe peers over Jayne's shoulder at the cargo before stepping back a few paces and shaking her head.

" _Mei yong ma duh tse gu yong,"_ Zoe snaps, gun dropping to her side. "Badger completely _fang leng jian_ us."

"Badger's a lot of things," Mal says cautiously. "But, if you think he's a _yu bun duh_ liar and a mass murderer… well, you'd be half right. No way's he callin' the shots."

"He's not," Oliver rumbles back. "The plot to wipe out the rim planets goes much higher than him. He's a pawn, just as you are."

"Can't say as I'm a fan of that notion," Mal winces. "Ain't never much liked chess. Not much a fan o' kings either. 'Specially those who aim to sacrifice me an' mine in a powerplay."

"We will hold them accountable for failing this 'verse," Oliver tells him.

"Yes… we will," replies the other captain.

"Cap'n…" Zoe says cautiously as Jayne looks his way in confusion.

"Ain't no profit to be found on worlds of dead folk," Mal points out. "I ain't out to save the 'verse, just to save a buck."

"Careful, sir," Zoe says back dryly. "You sound dangerously close to bein' a hero."

"Only a hero of capitalism and lawlessness," Mal replies.

"We don't need your help. And this isn't your fight," Oliver replies, his tone clipped and short.

"Seein' as we're the ones bein' duped into shuttling weapons of mass destruction, I'm gonna go out on a limb and it feels very much like our fight," Mal replies. "Besides, two ships are better than one."

Whatever Oliver is about to say in response, though, is drowned out by the sound of the other captain's ship's engines starting up.

"Turn her off, Kaylee!" Mal shouts.

"Felicity!" Oliver says at the same time. "Keep it on the ground!"

Kaylee responds with confusion but the engines power down. Felicity, however, gives no response and it sets Oliver on edge in a suddenly, very visible way.

" _Felicity_ ," he calls out again sharply with no response.

There's a moment of silent communication between Oliver and Digg, a series of loaded looks and nods and then Digg turns to head back into the ship with Roy at his side. They don't get more than a few steps, though, before stopped in their tracks, Mal letting out a long string of curses in Chinese.

"River…" Zoe says, her voice soft like she's trying to soothe a spooked animal. "Now ain't the time to be showin' initiative."

Oliver is, quite suddenly, wholly on alert, a cornered predator, dangerous and threatened. His bow is trained on the slip of a girl he can barely see over Felicity's shoulder. She's tiny. He doesn't have a clear shot. But she has a sword to Felicity's neck and Oliver is ready to empty his quiver into her the second he can.

"Let. Her. _Go_ ," he rumbles threateningly, his intent beyond clear.

He might be intensely protective of Felicity, for reasons he'd prefer not to analyze too closely, but he's not the only one. Their teammates are all on edge, too. Digg is all coiled muscle, ready to spring. Sara is sizing up the other woman, twirling her staff threateningly. Even Roy is pacing sideways, his aim trained on them even as he walks.

" _D'un yi shia,"_ Mal says insistently. " _How w'rin bu lai, whai w'rin bu jwo."_

"I'd answer, but the only Chinese I know is what _he_ growls when he's angry and I'm suspecting that's not all that polite," Felicity says tightly, nodding her head toward Oliver even with River's sword pressed to her neck.

"You came back but you left yourself there," River says, peering past Felicity's shoulder toward Oliver. "Sad little princeling lost in the stream, drowning in the River Styx."

Oliver is visibly startled at this, his brow furrowing but his concentration not wavering even for a moment.

"The dead, they claw at you, pull off bits and pieces to call their own. But you aren't theirs. Not all the way," River continues, eyes piercing and too attuned. "You're strong enough to fight the current, with the right motivation.

"Don't eat the fruit," River says sagely, releasing Felicity and allowing the sword to fall to her side.

" _Drop_ the weapon," Digg orders, closing in on River as Felicity hurries to the safety of Oliver's side.

"I can't," River says as her sword falls to the dust. "It lives inside me. Breathes my air. Can't drop it. I've tried."

"She's a bit crazy, but she's our crazy," Mal says casually, by way of explanation.

"For some damn reason," Jayne grumbles.

"And I thought _my_ babbling was awkward," Felicity says with a nervous laugh.

"You okay? Really?" Oliver asks, dismissing River entirely to focus wholly on Felicity, the entirety of the 'verse shrinking back to the connection between the two of them.

"I'm _fine_. Really. Not even a scratch. But, she looks… disturbingly familiar," Felicity notes from Oliver's side as one of his hands brushes her hair away from her neck, looking for any sign that River's sword had left damage behind.

"You're Oliver Queen," Mal announces with clear realization and Oliver freezes, his focus pulling away from Felicity even if his hand does not.

"River's crazier than an overstuffed bag o' cats, but she's rarely wrong," Mal continues. "'Little princeling?' 'Washed away by the River Styx?' You spent five years lost in Reaver territory on Lian Yu… Purgatory. You're Oliver Queen."

There's no question in his voice.

"Who I am is immaterial. It's what I _do_ that matters," Oliver counters.

"There's a notion I can get myself behind," Mal agrees. "Don't care much who you are. Or who you _were_. But we got ourselves some goals that align right abouts now and I'm thinkin' we can work to keep the planets on the rim alive and payin' for our fine services if we work together. We got an accord?"

He's holding out his hand, which Oliver watches warily for a moment before taking with a firm grip, shaking swiftly but cautiously.

"So, we're like a team now?" Roy asks, glancing back and forth between the other ship's crew and Oliver.

"Looks like," Oliver replies. "For now."

"Shiny," says Mal. "Let's go save the 'verse."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I don't speak Mandarin or any other Chinese language. Per completely unreliable online resources, the Chinese phrases used in this fic are:

 _Mei yong ma duh tse gu yong_ \- Motherless goat of all motherless goats

 _Fang leng jian_ \- Blindside or conspire against someone secretly; literally 'shoot a cold arrow'

 _Yu bun duh_ \- Stupid

 _D'un yi shia_ \- Wait / hold on a second

 _How w'rin bu lai, whai w'rin bu jwo_ \- Things never go smooth


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note - This is legitimately only being done because it's _fun_. I'm not looking for a big plotty story or a regular posting timeframe or anything like that. If this finds a plot, it will be wholly on accident. That being said... it is lots of fun for me, so I'll probably keep writing in this 'verse on and off. Enjoy!

* * *

"No, see, cause the primary nav coupling is bypassed so that the secondary thrusters' got enough juice to drive us just a mite faster. Gets us up an' runnin' while the other guy's still spoolin' up their power."

"How did you cope with the blowback, though? I mean _theoretically_ , it should work and, well, obviously it _actually_ works, now that I'm thinking about it, but how did you compensate for that much power routing through the main lines to the engine without it going... boom?"

"Well, I mean, if we just had yer standard engine, _sure_ , but I've tweaked her a bit here an' there."

"Oh… oh wow… this is not an off-the-line EVT29-4000-A90 pulse-feedback generator. Did you seriously resection the entire power grid?"

"Shiny, huh?"

"Yeah. That's _brilliant_. I'm… really sorry I broke it."

"Any of that make sense to you two?" Zoe asks the men standing next to her.

"All I caught was _sorry I broke it_ and I gotta say… I ain't likin' the sound of that," Mal replies grimly.

"You two can fix it, right?" Oliver asks, looking to Felicity and Kaylee.

The two women look at each other, grease and oil smudged across their faces and coating their hands. There's a whole silent communication thing going on between them, which is somewhat worrying to Oliver considering he _knows_ Felicity isn't the silent type and in the half hour or so since he's met Kaylee, he's come to believe she really isn't either.

"Yeah, well… sure. We can fix it," Kaylee says finally, hesitantly.

"Good. You get right on that then," Mal tells her.

"Will do… soon as we get a new enhanced graviton accelerator core," Kayle finishes up, wincing as she speaks.

Felicity cringes a little at her side. It might be funny, how similar the looks on their faces are, if it weren't for the context of the situation.

"Pardon?" Mal asks, blinking in disbelief as Zoe curses up a storm in Chinese behind him.

"It's… it done blown up, cap'n," Kaylee says. "Mighta been okay if we'd had a standard system when Felicity hacked in and set the primary power conduit to cycle back through on itself - nice work by the way. That was some neat trick. Real handy."

Felicity looks supremely pleased by the praise for half a moment before forcing the smile off her face under the weight of Mal's obviously displeased glare.

"Right, um…" Kaylee starts up again, clearing her throat. "So it woulda probably been fine on a standard system but with the way we got it all done up custom like, she blew her whole power core. Caught on fire an' everything. Ain't nothin' left _to_ fix."

"You _blew up_ my _ship_?" Mal asks angrily, glaring at Felicity.

"Only… a little bit?" Felicity asks. "As blowing up goes, I feel like this was a minor incident. Based on experience."

Mal takes a step towards her, probably without even thinking about it, but Oliver is directly in his path in an instant.

"We will take you _and_ your crew to get a new core," Oliver tells him. "But if you or any of your people threaten Felicity again, this is going to go another way."

The two captains are toe-to-toe as they stare each other down. Oliver's hood is off and mask pocketed, with the need for anonymity now gone, but he still wears the rest of his disguise and it serves to make him all the more intimidating.

To anyone other than Malcolm Reynolds, apparently.

"We're dead in the water without a new core, Captain," Zoe points out carefully. "Ain't no way we're affording a new core on our lonesome. An' even if we could, we ain't likely to have another ship pass by an' offer to give us a ride."

Mal's expression tightens at that. Zoe's right. He knows it. He's just not quite ready to admit it yet.

"I did sort of blow up his ship, Oliver" Felicity chimes in. "It's okay that he's upset about it."

"You've already been held at swordpoint once today, Felicity," Oliver tells her, not breaking eye contact with Malcolm. "I have a problem with that. No one gets to threaten my… crew."

There's a weird pause toward the end of his sentence, leaving Felicity wondering exactly what he'd _wanted_ to say instead.

"Quite a captain you got there," Kaylee says with a wide grin and a raise of her eyebrows. "Real gentleman-like."

Felicity tries not to blush. She sort of fails.

"We got us an accord, I think," Mal finally decides. "Me an' mine don't mean no harm. You give us a lift for the time bein', get us a new core and take us back to Serenity for your engineer an' mine to fix her up. Then we'll work together to bring down the purple bellied bastards set on destroyin' our way of life."

Oliver pauses at that for a moment, eyeing the other captain. But whatever he finds in the man's face is apparently sufficient because a moment later the two men are shaking hands and Felicity is breathing a sigh of relief.

"Get your people and whatever things you need. We'll leave within the hour," Oliver tells him.

"I get ta see their ship?" Kaylee asks with entirely too much excitement.

"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, Kaylee," her captain tells her. "This ain't a joyride, just a quick hitchhike. We'll be back before Jayne cleans his gun."

"Ha! I'm not the only one who makes unintentionally dirty comments!" Felicity says somewhat triumphantly, earning looks from literally everyone in the room, including Oliver who appears to have something stuck in his eye from the way he's blinking at her. "Oooor… I just read into things more than everyone else. Carry on. Forget I said anything."

"I was thinkin' it too," Kaylee whispers over to her.

"I'm going to go get Roy to oversee Felicity and Kaylee finishing up here and then check in with Sara about her contacts for a new core," Oliver says.

"Your girl don't need a bodyguard on my ship," Mal says, looking offended.

"Didn't you just explain to me that the girl who held a sword to Felicity's neck was crazy?" Oliver questions.

"That's… a valid point," Mal agrees, looking like the idea of Oliver making such a point completely throws his worldview.

"I'm sending in Roy. Don't leave his sight," Oliver says to Felicity.

She rolls her eyes at him, but nods. She might not want a babysitter, but the presence of crazy girls with swords is an incredibly good point in Oliver's favor. She's willing to cave this time. Which he seems pleased with.

He nods at her and says thanks, earning a small smile from her in return before he strides out of the room with Mal and Zoe close behind.

"He's so _handsome_ with those muscles and those eyes an' that jaw. Surely dunno how you ever get any work done with him around," Kaylee sighs, yanking some burned out wires off of the engine.

"It's a challenge," Felicity sighs in reply. "Wait 'til you see the salmon ladder."

* * *

Verdant is one of those few ships that rolled off the assembly line right at the height of Alliance decadence before the war. She's not meant for transporting cargo or fighting battles. She's a pleasure cruiser, a party boat meant for a joyride by the rich and entitled along with a dozen of their closest friends.

She was Oliver's dad's boat, once. One of several. They probably would have taken her out on that ill-fated trip near the rim if she hadn't been in the shop being retrofitted with new anti-grav repulsors at the time.

In that way, she's sort of a survivor. Just like Oliver. Just like Sara. And, like them, she's changed by her experience. She's full of custom upgrades using top-of-the-line equipment that better suits their needs. She's a well-tuned machine. A weapon unto herself.

She might still look like a party boat on the outside, but she's not that. Not anymore.

The symbolism of this, with one-time _Ollie Queen_ standing in his Arrow gear in front of her open cargo bay doors, is lost on precisely no one. Well… okay, maybe it's lost on Jayne.

"I ain't comfortable with leavin' her," Mal grumbles, looking back at Serenity. "Vultures could pick her bones while we're gone, leave us with nothin'. She's defenseless."

"No way we're gonna find a core like we need this far out," Zoe points out. "It's gonna be three weeks on the minimum round trip an' we ain't got enough supplies on Serenity for half that time."

"Still think one of us oughta stay behind. Keep her safe," Mal says.

"And be humped for sure?" Zoe counters. "Alliance knows we stole those supplies. They got our number already, Captain. What do you reckon happens when they track down a grounded Firefly class ship?"

"Kaylee and I grabbed all the most expensive parts to bring them with, Captain," Felicity chimes in. "We made it look like she's already been picked over and we've got tracking beacons planted all over her. If someone tries to steal your ship, we'll be able to track it."

"And how, exactly, are we gonna fit my whole crew in with your crew on your ship?" Mal counters.

"Carefully?" Felicity ventures.

"We have eight quarters," Oliver tells the other ship's captain.

"And I got me nine people you're takin' aboard. Now math ain't exactly my strong suit, unless we're countin' credits, but I'm thinkin' that don't quite work out," Mal says.

"Dibs on bunking with Felicity!" Kaylee grins widely.

"Felicity's staying with me," Oliver asserts.

"What?" Roy asks with a sharp laugh.

" _What_?" Felicity echoes bewildered.

"Just… I'll sleep on the floor," Oliver tells her lowly. "I just need to see you're safe."

"Kaylee's not going to hurt me, Oliver," Felicity tells him.

"It's not Kaylee I'm worried about," Oliver says, his eyes trained on River who is barefoot and drawing symbols in the dirt with her toes while she giggles.

"River's not going to hurt anyone, either," the girl's brother pipes up.

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for that," Oliver tells him bluntly, looking on edge and more than a little defensive.

"Fine. Look… it's fine," Felicity says, placing a hand on Oliver's arm and earning the whole of his attention. "I will sleep with you. I mean in your bed. ROOM. In your room. _God_ , my _brain_ needs to do the thing where it _thinks_ before I talk."

In spite of himself, Oliver's lips quirk into a thin smile before he lets his hand settle on her back and turns to the rest of their recently merged crews.

"Zoe, Wash, you two can have one of the spare rooms. River and Simon get one, too. And Captain… you can have the last free one," Oliver tells them.

"What 'bout the rest of us?" Jayne asks indignantly.

"You're bunking with Digg," Oliver tells him, to which Digg grumbles in clear dislike.

"Why's I got to bunk with _him_?" Jayne asks, obviously about as pleased about this as Digg is.

"Because I trust you only slightly more than I trust River and the other option was to have you bunk with Sara," Oliver tells him.

"I'm not objecting to that plan," Jayne says, perking up considerably.

"Believe me. You would," Sara tells him darkly.

"You'd be dead inside of a day and I imagine your captain would object to that," Oliver tells him.

"Might do. Depends on the day," Mal says with a shrug.

"Shepard, you'll be bunking with Roy," Oliver says, to which Book nods amenably. "Kaylee, you can have Felicity's room. And Inara… where are you most comfortable?"

"Gracious of you to ask, Captain," she responds with a bow of her head. "Tactful, as well."

"I wasn't about to make assumptions or dictate to a companion where she sleeps," Oliver responds.

"Didn't seem to bother you with the rest of us," Jayne grumbles.

"I'll be fine staying with Kaylee," Inara replies. "Thank you, Captain."

"Shiny! It's like a slumber party!" Kaylee grins. "This'll be fun!"

"The edge of night creeps in," River says all of the sudden, staring up at the bright blue sky, her face open and oddly childlike in its joy. "It's hard to slumber with all the screams. They echo."

"You say the most comforting things," Wash deadpans.

"Come on," Oliver says, guiding Felicity toward their ship but never taking his eyes off of River. "We need to get moving before the Alliance catches up with us."

"Or the _edge of night creeps in_ ," Felicity says emphatically, looking up at him. "I rescind any earlier objections to staying with you."

" _Good_."


	3. Chapter 3

It's evident, before Verdant even takes to the air, that it's going to be incredibly cramped quarters with their newly added shipmates. In theory, Felicity doesn't mind this much. She likes Kaylee and it'll be nice to have someone around who understands all the tech stuff she does. But in practice? In practice it's a little different.

She can't round the corner without walking into someone. But it's not even just the people. The mess hall is piled high with extra supplies. Their cargo bay is filled with some of Serenity's more expensive parts. There's _stuff_ everywhere. It's going to be a long three weeks in some very tight quarters, basically.

And she's sharing a room.

With _Oliver_.

Yeah… there's a thought that also, in theory, sounds lovely, but in practice sorta makes her wonder if she's about to break out into hives. Because this is _Oliver_. Oliver who keeps his distance but looks at her like she's the only person in the 'verse worth noticing. She's his girl, but she's not his _girl_ and that line is so blurry these days that she's not quite sure where it sits. If it were up to her, she might dissolve it completely.

She's more than halfway in love with her Captain. She knows it. But that doesn't change anything. Not really. Not when Oliver intentionally keeps her at arm's length, even if he also doesn't seem to let her get any further away than that.

They're orbiting each other these days, caught in each other's gravity, but sometimes it feels like a supernova might be imminent, like they both might just be swallowed whole.

She'd be lying if she said a huge part of her didn't want that.

"You got a mighty fine set-up here," Kaylee says, shaking her head in wonder and pulling Felicity's thoughts back to the now where the fellow tech-wiz is looking over Verdant's engine room.

"Perks of a billionaire as your captain," Felicity admits. "He doesn't exactly cut corners on his ship."

"Plus, I'm pretty sure he'd get you anything you asked for," Kaylee grins hugely with a wink.

"Kaylee…" Felicity says in a warning tone as she flushes. "He's my captain. And my friend."

"Alls I'm sayin' is _my_ captain and friend ain't never asked me to bunk with him," Kaylee tells her knowingly.

In the brief time she's known Kaylee, it's become highly evident to Felicity that the other girl has a very broad appreciation of men and isn't shy at all about expressing it. Still… she's _fairly_ sure the other girl would be far more interested in sharing her ship's doctor's bed than her captain's. She bites her tongue rather than bringing it up, though. She doesn't know Kaylee _that_ well yet and _apparently_ her mind-to-mouth filter is working at least a little bit today.

"I'm not _bunking_ with him," Felicity protests. "He's sleeping on the floor, remember?"

"And you're gonna let him? You ain't gonna tell that man who looks like he walked right outta a steamy daydream and stares at you like ya hung the moon to join you in his bed?" Kaylee asks disbelievingly.

"I… hadn't thought about it," she lies, busying herself with tightening a bolt that isn't actually loose.

"Ain't nice to tell fibs, specially if it's yourself you're tellin' em to," Kaylee says sagely.

Felicity bites her lower lip and darts her eyes toward Kaylee, who gives a sympathetic shrug.

"Oliver's complicated," she mumbles after a moment.

"Best stuff in life is," Kaylee winks.

"I... um… I need to move my stuff to Oliver's room," Felicity says, wanting a little bit of space from this conversation all of the sudden.

She really does like Kaylee. A lot. And, to be honest, she could probably use a bit of girl talk in her life, but she's not used to it. It's not like talking to Sara. And maybe this is too much all at once.

"K," Kaylee says amiably. "Mind if I check out the interface between the thrusters and the pulse generators? You got some real shiny things you done here."

"Sure," Felicity tells her. "Have fun. I'll be back in a bit."

If Kaylee looks a little bit like a kid in a candy shop, the analogy is probably not unwarranted. It's rare, in Felicity's experience, to find someone who loves the inner workings of ships as much as Kaylee does.

Felicity runs into both Roy and Wash on the way back to her room, one of them literally. Wash is a good sport about it though, even if their collision _does_ make him drop a box of toy dinosaurs all of the floor and he blames her for their extinction.

So, eventually she gets to her room, even if it takes longer than expected. But it doesn't take long at all to pack up a few things. After all, it's not like she can't come back to grab something if she forgets it. She's just staying down the hall.

With a bag slung over one shoulder and a box balanced against one hip, she walks out of her usual room and into the hall.

This will be fine, she thinks to herself. This will be great. She'll get some time alone with Oliver and that's always nice _and_ in short order. Forget the whole bed situation and _whatever_ happens there. It's her. And it's Oliver. And there's nothing to be anxious about.

She's steeled herself enough that she's feeling pretty darn confident and hopeful as she enters the hallway. But those feelings die a swift and brutal death. Because right down the hall, lingering in the doorway of Oliver's room is Oliver himself… hugging Inara.

It's… it's not damning, or anything. But she has to look away anyhow. There's too much closeness there for two people who just met and her brain is working overtime on this, much to her dismay. Inara most certainly runs in the same circles as the Queen family. Companions are a mainstay for the idle rich. It hadn't occurred to her before, but the way Inara had called him captain… It makes her wonder now.

They don't see her.

She slinks back slightly into her room, feeling like an intruder on her own ship. And it _hurts_. It hurts like it shouldn't. Oliver isn't _hers_. She knows this, has had it underscored so many times. By Sara and Laurel and McKenna and Helena.

But somehow… some way… it's felt for some time like they have _something_. Maybe it's not acted upon and maybe it's not defined, but it's still _there_. And it's not one-sided. She knows it, feels it in her bones. And seeing him with another woman now, when he looks at her like she's everything but doesn't act on it… it just _hurts_.

"Hello," says a voice sweetly and Felicity jumps, blinking hard as she turns to find Inara.

 _Of course_ she does. Inara is moving into _her room_ on _her ship_ and she's standing in the doorway, so _of course_ Inara is there.

"Hey… Sorry, I'll just… get out of your way," Felicity bumbles, shifting awkwardly.

"Not at all," Inara replies with a demure smile. "I was hoping to talk to you, actually."

"Me?" Felicity asks in surprise.

"Yes," Inara confirms. "I wanted to thank you for your hospitality."

"Ah… that's…" Felicity starts. "Probably a thing you should be thanking Oliver for instead. Though, possibly you already have."

There's a twitch to Inara's nose and a slim curl to her lips that makes it look like she's fighting a broader grin. And _still_ she's strikingly beautiful.

"Oliver isn't the one giving up his room for me," Inara tells her.

"Right… well… you're welcome, then," Felicity says, fumbling with the words a bit.

Inara watches her a moment, her wide-eyes taking in far too much, watching with a keenness that makes Felicity ill-at-ease.

"Do you know what a companion does? Who they are?" Inara asks her, throwing Felicity further out of her depth.

"I… know my mother didn't get accepted at the Academy. So I know who they're _not_ ," Felicity tells her.

"We read people," Inara tells her. "We fill in the gaps in their lives, fulfill their needs, make them feel complete, if only for a while."

"Why are you telling me this?" Felicity asks uncomfortably.

"Because, even though it's been years since I've seen him, I've known Oliver a very long time," Inara tells Felicity, sending her heart sinking. "And the man I see now? He's not the same at all as the boy I knew. Some of that is what he's gone through, but some of it is you."

" _Me_?" Felicity asks in disbelief. "I'm not… I mean, we're not…"

Inara laughs, a light sound that rings of delight, and her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners.

"You know better than that," Inara tells her weightily. "And so does he."

Felicity says nothing, watching Inara instead, hesitance exuding from her in every way.

"I can't tell you how many galas and balls I went to at the Queen Manor and Queen Consolidated on Tommy Merlyn's arm," Inara continues, fully surprising Felicity. "He was a good client. And a good man, even when he didn't know it yet. But Oliver… Oliver was his own worst enemy back then, selfish and self-destructive. He wants to be better now. He _is_ better. Some of that is borne of everything he had to do to survive. But some of it… some of it is _you_."

Felicity's not sure what to do with that, but there's one question that's rooted itself firmly in her mind and she can't _not_ ask it.

"So you didn't… I mean… you weren't…" she starts.

"Oliver was never one for companions back then," Inara tells her. "He had no want for intimacy and no need to hire someone for sex."

"...And now?" Felicity dares to ask.

"You're forgetting what a companion does," Inara says with a smile. "We fills gaps, provide connections that are missing in our clients' lives. Oliver doesn't have any of those anymore. You already fill all of them."

"I'm not… I mean… Oliver and I… we aren't like that," Felicity protests.

"Maybe not yet," Inara tells her. "But he loves you."

Felicity feels the breath sucked right out of her at that. Because those are words she doesn't dare to even think. And hearing it voiced like that, so boldly and with such certainty… it throws her, sends her mind reeling and her heart thudding in a way that's both thrilling and a little terrifying.

"And you love him," Inara says observantly.

Felicity doesn't bother to deny it. It seems pointless to, with Inara's too-keen eyes.

"It's complicated," she says for the second time that day. "Even if you're right… that doesn't mean we'll be together."

"You might not be having sex, but if you think you two aren't _already_ together in every other way, the only ones you're fooling are yourselves," Inara tells her.

There's literally nothing Felicity can think of to say to that, but Inara doesn't appear to expect a response anyhow.

"Thank you, again, for the room," Inara says with a little bow of her head and a clear sign of the end of the conversation.

"Anytime," Felicity replies tightly with a thin smile, shifting past the other woman and making her way down the hall, bag still over her shoulder and box still in hand.

Her feet kind of steer her towards Oliver's room - _their_ room - all on their own. It's a short walk and, to be honest, she kind of wishes she had more time to get her thoughts together before facing Oliver. Her conversation with Inara has rattled her a bit, but then bald-faced truths have a way of doing that.

"Hey," his voice greets her through his open doorway.

"Hey," she returns, bag slipping off her shoulder.

He moves, all sinewy and masculine grace, taking the box from her hands and nodding his head toward the room.

"Make yourself at home," he offers, smiling at her with a thin, genuine curl of his lips and eyes that linger on her face.

She stares back, not looking once towards the room she'll be occupying for the foreseeable future. The room doesn't matter. It's just a room. It's who she's sharing it with that counts. And her gaze can't seem to pull itself from him, the sharp edge of his cheekbones, the fathomless depth of his sky-blue eyes, his slightly-chapped, barely-parted lips. She drinks him in, lets the pull of their gravity hold her in place for as long as she can.

"You okay?" he asks after a few beats, his hand drifting to tuck a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear.

Her eyes flutter shut momentarily at that, savoring the rough callouses of his fingertips drifting across her skin. His hand hasn't pulled away when she opens her eyes again and their gazes lock, the rest of the room, the ship, the 'verse melting away around them.

He sucks in a quiet breath - his eyes widen, his pupils expanding - and his touch _lingers_ on her skin. He makes no move to push things forward, but neither does he pull away. And, somehow, there's nothing missing from this moment.

It strikes her, suddenly and quite conclusively, that Inara knew _exactly_ what she was talking about.

"I'm great," she says roughly, finally. "But you aren't sleeping on the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver's had more sleepless nights than not, if we're being honest. Since the Queen's Gambit was lost… since he spent _years_ on Lian Yu with the ever present threat of reavers… since he realized his father's sins extended far beyond shady business practices and extramarital affairs all the way into covering up botched terraforming projects by the Alliance that wiped out _worlds_. Well… he hasn't slept much in recent years, let's just leave it at that.

This is different, though.

 _God_ is this different.

It's not nightmares this time. Not by a longshot.

From the second she'd walked out of his bathroom with her hair loose and makeup scrubbed clean, wearing an absurdly oversized t-shirt and incredibly tiny shorts, he'd known he wasn't going to sleep. Not with her insisting they share the bed. Not with her endlessly long, bare legs tangled in his sheets feeding daydreams that he'd tried really hard to repress for far longer than he'd ever admit.

"You coming to bed?" she'd asked him all guilelessly after climbing under his sheets, one bare shoulder peeking out from under the covers.

He'd full-on _stopped breathing_ for a second and just _blinked_ because this was… this was too much. He'd had this play out in his mind before. A hundred times. A _thousand_ times. In his head, though, there's never been any hesitation.

It also ended very differently.

Eventually, he'd started breathing again, smiled with some combination of nerves and affection and settled on the mattress across from her. He hadn't relaxed, though. Not for a long, _long_ while. Not until after her breathing had evened out and she'd drifted off in slumber.

Felicity, he'd found out rather quickly during the night, gravitates to him in her sleep. She'd tossed and turned until her body found his warmth and then she burrowed in, curled up against his side with her head pillowed against his chest and her legs kicking loose the sheets to twine with his. His first instinct had been to tense more, to be on edge, to _fight_ this. But then… then she'd hummed a happy sigh and brought one curled fist up to rest against his chest and he'd just… he'd felt the resistance sap out of him.

She was _safe_. Safe and in his arms and _content_ and something uncoiled in him at that thought, brought a sense of ease to him that was normally so foreign, so elusive.

This was dangerous in its perfection. He wasn't supposed to _want_ this, want _her_. He didn't know how to make space in his life to _live_ his life. And even if he could figure that out, he was pretty sure he didn't deserve it.

Still… with her asleep against him and a halo of riotous golden waves tickling at his arm, he hadn't been able to help drinking in the moment, letting himself pretend, if only for a moment, that he could have this, that this was _real_.

It was a heady experience.

She'd mumbled in her sleep, more often his name than not, and he'd felt his pulse trill in immediate response _every_ time. She'd sighed against his skin and goosebumps had chased her breath across the landscape of his skin. She'd uncurled her fingers against his chest and spread her palm wide over his heart and it had thudded back against her hand in unconscious response. She'd slid those soft, bare legs against his and he'd had to slam his eyes shut to ground himself because his whole damned body screamed at him that this was _right_. This was _right_.

It had been absolute fucking torture and he literally wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the entire 'verse.

Surely he'd slept at some point, drifted in and out with groggy half-awareness. But it can't have been much. It surely doesn't _feel_ like much.

Now, with his arms full of this brilliant, beautiful, quirky girl who's completely thrown him for a loop, he's sort of dreading morning. Because with morning? This all goes away. Reality sets in and she's not his and she doesn't belong in his arms and no amount of wishing will make it so. Still… time marches on and sooner rather than later her eyes blink toward wakefulness.

"Morning," he greets her, voice gravelly with disuse and lack of sleep.

It takes her a moment. He watches as reality drifts over her, sinks into her skin and impresses itself into her being. Before that happens, while it's still settling and the haze of dreams still color the edges of her awareness, her eyes are open, welcoming. He has to actively resist the urge to press his lips to hers and skim his fingers over the soft skin of her exposed collarbone. And he knows, _knows_ to the roots of his being that in that blurry in between space, she would wholly welcome it.

Before the world sets in and complicates everything.

But it does.

And he can see the shift in her as the veil of night lifts from her eyes and the harsh light of day throws everything into sharp relief.

"Oh my _God_ , I drooled on you," she says, looking mortified and wiping at her lips, pulling away from the cushion of his chest.

"It's fine," he says tightly, because this is the furthest thing in the world from something that bothers him.

"I cuddle-attacked you in my sleep, Oliver," she says with entirely too much seriousness. "You should make _me_ sleep on the floor. I'm so sorry. Why didn't you just shove me away?"

"You seemed comfortable," he tells her, tense smile pulling at his lips. "I didn't want to. I didn't mind."

She's actually attempting to rub some of the drool off of his chest as he speaks and she just freezes as his words register. Her hands are on his bare chest and she's still half-lying on his arm, her long blond hair tickling at his fingers. He wants to keep her there.

"You slept well?" He asks her, because the heaviness of her gaze is too much and wanting something doesn't make it so.

"I did," she confirms, pulling back slightly, her legs untangling from his, much to his dismay. "You look like you didn't sleep much, though."

"I slept enough," he contradicts.

"Really?" she asks skeptically.

"I slept as much as I wanted to," he amends, because she's always seen through to the truth of things and he doesn't actually want to lie to her.

"Oliver…" she murmurs with great hesitance.

He can't help it. He's used to touching her at this point. He brings his free hand up, pushes the riot of frizzy hair away from her face and presses his lips to her forehead. It's chaste. Or, it _could_ be anyhow. He lingers, though, the press of his lips to her skin burning a place in his memory. He doesn't miss the way her breath hitches or her fingers splay wider on the skin of his chest. But that's as far as this goes. That's as far as he dares let this go.

"You can take the shower first," he tells her, pulling back and sliding his arm out from under her. "I'm late to meet up with Digg to spar anyhow."

"I… Oliver," she says, sitting up as he stands. "Are we okay?"

Her shirt has slipped off her shoulder again and she's fresh-faced with bedhead that makes him want to sink his fingers into her hair, kiss her, press her back against the mattress and pull incoherent mutterings from her lips.

"We're fine. We're good," he tells her instead. "I'm glad you slept well. I'll see you in a bit."

He's gone before she can reply.

"You look terrible," is Digg's delighted greeting.

Oliver positively _scowls_ in response.

"Felicity sleep better than you?" Digg pokes.

It's not just the two of them, though. Serenity's second-in-command is standing nearby looking entirely too amused and sporting clothes fully suitable for sparring.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Oliver counters, not entirely comfortable with the outsider's presence.

"Oh… I will," Digg assures him.

"I slept fine," Oliver grumbles.

"Sure you did," Digg replies entirely too easily. "He look like he slept well, Zoe?"

"Can't say as I'm acquainted well enough to make that judgement," Zoe replies with a lofty tone.

"But?" Digg asks, knowing there's more, and Oliver is _already_ annoyed at how in sync these two are together.

"But I'm guessing you and I could kick his ass right now because he ain't had a lick of sleep in at least the last twenty-four," Zoe finishes with entirely too much enjoyment.

Too bad. Oliver had sort of liked the other captain's second-in-command up until now.

He lets out a short, sharp laugh and nods his head as he grabs a staff and twirls it.

" _Try_ ," he orders.

They do.

And they sort of kick his ass.

But, to be fair, he'd rather thoroughly underestimated Zoe. How had he been supposed to know that she was basically a female version of Digg?

"You're a damned mess, man," Digg tells Oliver, offering him a hand up.

Oliver hisses through his teeth because his ribs _hurt_ , but he takes Digg's hand anyhow. Because it's _Digg_.

"I'm fine," Oliver counters, thoroughly disliking the way Zoe and Digg trade knowing looks.

"Look… man, she'd be fine bunking with Kaylee and Inara," Digg says.

"It's _fine_ ," Oliver damned near shouts. "I'm _fine_. She's not going anywhere."

"You're so tied up in knots you can't even see which way is up at this point," Digg says shaking his head.

"You knock your captain around this way, too?" Oliver asks Zoe, bristling again at the woman's presence.

"Might do if I thought it'd do a lick of good," Zoe shrugs. "Digg seems to think you got more sense than Mal. Can't say as I'm sure if that's true or not yet, but you surely can't have less. Not when it comes to this kind of thing."

Oliver doesn't bother to ask any questions about that. He's seen the way the other captain looks at Inara. He's seen the way _a lot_ of men and more than a handful of women have looked at Inara over the years. It's different, though. There's more to it than attraction. That's obvious inside of thirty seconds in both of their company. It reminds him a hell of a lot of Tommy when he was with Inara, if he's being honest, which is something he'd really rather not think about so he pushes it back, lets it fester like everything else Tommy-related.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life, Oliver," Digg starts in.

"Then _don't_ ," Oliver growls back, wiping at his lip, his hand coming away with blood on it.

" _Fine_ ," Digg says sharply. "Fine, but you need to sort this out before it messes with your head even more."

"My head's fine," Oliver counters.

"Then why'd we beat you?" Digg asks pointedly.

"There were _two_ of you," Oliver stresses.

"Oliver, man, I've seen you take on five men at once and be the only one left standing," Digg reminds him bluntly. "You think this isn't messing with your head? What happens when it isn't me and Zoe? What happens when it's Niska or Slade or reavers?"

"You think I can't protect this crew, Digg?" Oliver challenges, angry and defensive like a wounded animal.

"I think we'd be better off if we were all in peak condition and that's not gonna happen with you trying to platonically share a bed with a woman you're in love with," Digg says firmly.

" _Ni ta ma de_ ," Oliver curses, throwing his staff to the side and stalking out of the room, all coiled anger and frustration.

"So…" Zoe starts, sidling up next to Digg and crossing her arms as they watch Oliver go. "That went well."

Digg sighs and shakes his head.

"Sometimes it's like talking to a wall," he says after a beat.

"Pretty sure that's a prerequisite for bein' captain," Zoe counters, eyebrows raised.

"And he's so far in denial I'm starting to wonder if he actually believes it," Digg adds.

"Thinkin' that might be one, too," she replies with a knowing glance.

"Felicity deserves better than this," Digg says.

"So's Inara," Zoe replies. "But that ain't none of my business. Truth be told, I'm a bit surprised you made this your's."

"This started with the three of us," Digg tells her. "I've watched those two actively avoid feelings for _years_. The mission is good. It gave him something to live for when he needed it. But that can't be _all_ he lives for because sooner or later it's not gonna be enough."

"Spoken like a soldier who's been there," Zoe observes.

Digg just hums in agreement.

"We were Browncoats… during the war," Zoe offers up.

"I gathered that," Digg replies. "Given your captain's coat."

"You weren't," Zoe states.

It's not a question.

"No," Digg agrees. "I wasn't. But my fight wasn't with the Independents. Politics was never my game."

Zoe just nods, waiting for more.

"I was stationed on Santo, fighting the slave trade and drug-runners," he says tightly.

"That's good work," Zoe nods. "Alliance did more o' that sort of thing, maybe we wouldn't of had the war to start with."

"It was underfunded and undermanned," Digg tells her. "We were a token effort at best and most of my unit didn't come home. War was inevitable. I'm just glad I got out before it started."

"Didn't wanna fight for the Alliance?" Zoe questions.

"Not sure I would have," Digg confesses. "And that would have made for an even messier divorce with my wife than we had. Besides, I had my fill of killing."

"And yet you do this. Why is that?" she asks.

"I'm still a soldier," Digg smiles lightly. "And Oliver needed someone to watch his six."

She gets it. He knew she would. They are very much alike, him and Zoe. It's refreshing, really.

"So you worn out from kicking your captain's _pi gu_ or do you wanna go a few rounds?" Zoe asks him.

"I'm game if you are," he offers with a tilt of his head.

Zoe grins in response, all toothy and entirely too delighted by the prospect.

This is fair, really. As far as Digg's been able to tell, she's the only one of her crew who trains like this. Jayne's all big guns and grenades. Mal's a bit more evened out in his fighting, but he doesn't exactly strike Digg as the type to spend time day-in and day-out training in hand-to-hand combat. He's a bit too cocky for that.

So, it's hard to tell which one of them enjoys the sparring more. Their styles are actually very similar and their skills fairly evenly matched. It surely makes for better practice than Oliver did earlier that morning. And Digg fully loses track of time. It's all moves and countermoves, action and strategy. It's great and definitely advantageous to fight against someone new once in a while.

Zoe's just pinned him for the dozenth time, twisting his arm at a really, _really_ painful angle and pressing down on his knees with her shins, when someone else enters the room.

"Oh!" says Wash, halting a few steps into the room. "Hello Arms."

"It's Digg," the other man replies with clear amusement.

"Right. Digg," Wash says before looking to Zoe. "Do you mind dismounting your new friend, dear?"

"Problem, husband?" Zoe asks releasing Digg from the rather painful hold she'd had him in and rising to her feet.

"No… no problem. Glad to see you're… making friends," Wash says, glancing between the two.

Insecurity rolls off of Wash in an almost palpable way and Digg is entirely too smart to get in the middle of this.

"Gonna go send a wave to my wife and daughter, tell them good morning," Digg announces, grasping Zoe's proffered hand to help him to his feet. "Thanks for the training. You two have a good morning."

He nods respectfully toward Wash on his way out, grateful for the umpteenth time that Lyla is not the jealous sort. He misses her. Hugely. But ARGUS doesn't exactly make for easy relationships and Waller's morally gray missions on the Alliance's behalf mean he doesn't get to see his family nearly as often as he'd like.

"He's married?" Wash asks as soon as Digg is gone.

"So am I," Zoe points out.

"Glad to hear you remember that," Wash volleys back.

"If you've got a problem, just say it," Zoe demands.

"No… no problem," Wash replies unconvincingly, shrugging a little. "I have no problem at all with walking in to find my wife straddling another man. That's perfectly fine."

"We were _sparring_ ," Zoe says in disbelief.

"His arms are the size of _my head_."

"No offense, honey, but if that was the sort of thing that interested me, you an' I wouldn'ta been together in the first place," Zoe points out, wiping her sweaty brow with a towel.

"The _size of my head_ ," Wash repeats slowly, hands spread wide in front of him as if measuring Digg's arms. "And he's a soldier and a pilot and smart and loyal and uncomfortably good looking-"

"Startin' to sound like _I'm_ the one who should be worried here," Zoe bites out.

"Zoe…"

"Digg and Oliver might be great to tangle with on the mats, but you're the only one I wanna tangle with in my _bunk._ So quit the jealous husband routine and remember that I love you, you ridiculous man," Zoe tells him.

"I know… I know. I'm sorry, just sometimes I… Wait, You sparred with _The Arrow?"_ Wash asks with new interest.

"Kicked his _ass_ ," Zoe grins triumphantly.

"Well that's… simultaneously comforting - because you're Valkyrie-like in your awesome warriorness - and terrifying because our current captain's reputation implies he should certainly be able to beat you," Wash announces. "I can't decide if I'm proud or concerned."

"He's a little distracted this morning," Zoe says in what might be the understatement of the year.

"Because of the blonde?" Wash asks knowingly.

Zoe blinks back at him in surprise.

"Hey, I notice things," Wash says defensively. "I'm not completely blind. I know what a man in love looks like."

"Do you now?"

"Sure do, seein' as I own a mirror," he grins, looking entirely too self-satisfied.

"You're very smooth, husband," Zoe says, straightening his collar with an affectionate grin pulling at her lips.

"I know. It makes up for the lack of arms the size of my head. Wanna head back to our room and 'spar'?"

Zoe just laughs and grins, sashaying her way out of the room with her husband in her wake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** If you're thinking "Hey this feels like it's starting to have an actual plot!" you might be correct. It's unintentionally going that way. *facepalm* This chapter is for dettiot. Happy Birthday, dear!

* * *

"Hey, you got a minute, Captain?" Oliver asks with a rap of his knuckles against Mal's open door.

"Got a whole lot of 'em, seein' as I ain't a captain at the moment," the other man replies, tossing the parts to the gun he'd been cleaning onto his bed.

Oliver winces. It's only been two days since Verdant took on the other crew but unexpected downtime hasn't settled well with most of them. They're on edge, antsy, and there's a long way to go, yet. Oliver can easily see this becoming a problem.

"I wanted to have a word with you," Oliver tells him. "Mind if I come in?"

The other captain gestures broadly towards a chair off to the corner. Oliver takes it as the invitation it is and enters the room, closing the door behind him, but doesn't take a seat.

"How's your crew settling in?" Oliver asks.

"They're managin'," he replies. "But.. well… pilot's gotta fly, engineer's gotta tinker. Me an' mine ain't the types meant for sittin' still for long."

Oliver knew that already. He did. Serenity's crew isn't the sedentary type. As much as Mal might have joked about Jayne needing shore leave, he's pretty sure not a one of them would deal well with more than a day or two in a row of downtime. And, actually, it's a little reassuring to realize he's read them all accurately.

"Felicity seems to really like Kaylee. I'll talk to her about letting her pitch in on some upgrades she's got planned. I'm sure she can use an extra pair of hands that know what they're doing," Oliver offers. "And if your pilot knows how to fly this class ship, I'm sure Digg would be willing to take a few nights off here and there."

"Mighty hospitable of you, Captain," Mal replies with a wary look. "If it's got an engine or wings, Wash can fly it. An' I know he'd appreciate it."

"Good," Oliver nods, his right hand rubbing fingertips together absently.

"Now what exactly is it that you're not wanting to tell me?" the displaced captain asks bluntly.

Oliver pauses at that, his fingers stilling.

"Captain-" Oliver starts.

"I ain't a captain at the moment," the other man tells him. "How's about we just go with Mal?"

That's a bit of a relief. Oliver is sure his face would have twisted with distaste every time he said the word, if he'd been told to call the other man Malcolm instead.

"Mal…" Oliver starts again. "We've got a lead on who put Badger up to hiring you to steal the Alpha-Omega."

Mal stands a little straighter at this, looks far more invested in the conversation than he had thus far.

"That a fact?" Mal asks.

"Sara's contacts say the payout came from Palmer Industries, but we think that was a front, too," Oliver tells him.

"I'm not one for trustin' lightly," Mal replies. "But even if I was, I'd find it a mighty challenge to trust someone as squeaky clean as Ray Palmer. There ain't no one makes as much money as he has while dumpin' funds into those _economic rejuvenation_ programs he's started up on the outer planets. Business and philanthropy ain't exactly bedfellows on the regular."

There's some truth to what Mal is saying, surely. Oliver doesn't really trust Ray Palmer, either. The man is _too_ squeaky clean. His smile is too broad, his teeth too white, his eyes too earnest. It's put Oliver ill-at-ease the few times he's met the other man. Though, to be fair, Palmer is new money. They don't know each other all that well.

"Maybe he _is_ up to something, but I seriously doubt it's wiping out the population of the outer planets," Oliver tells him. "He's donated hundreds of millions of credits to economic development programs. Why waste that money?"

"You raise a good point," Mal acknowledges.

"I think it's likely he thought he was purchasing penicillin, just like you thought you were stealing," Oliver tells him.

"Let's go with that, then," Mal says. "Assumin' that's the truth of it, where's that leave us?"

"We need to access Palmer's network to trace who tipped him off on the shipment," Oliver says.

"Sounds like a job your girl Felicity is well suited for," Mal offers.

Oliver's jaw tightens a little at the 'your girl' comment, but he lets it slide by.

"She _is_ ," Oliver says instead. "But we're well outside of range for anything like that at the moment."

Mal pauses at that, his expression hardening as he mulls over the words, a picture forming in his mind.

"You want to head out to Hera to get access to Palmer's systems?" Mal asks, even though he knows the answer. "That ain't nowhere near where we need to be headin' for a new core."

"I know," Oliver acknowledges. "But we can't ignore this lead and once Palmer realizes his shipment of penicillin isn't coming through as ordered, we run the risk of him trying to delete records and making our job harder."

" _Liu kou shui de biao zi he hou zi de er zi_ ," Mal spits out, leaving Oliver both a little taken aback and amused at the other man's creative cursing. " _Fine_. But soon as this job's done, we go right back on track to get us a core."

"Of course," Oliver tells him, knowing full well that if they succeed there may well be another lead demanding they follow it.

That's a discussion for another time, though.

"An' my people don't work free," Mal points out.

"You want me to _pay_ you to help you figure out who tried to have you steal biological weapons?" Oliver blinks in surprise.

"Me an' mine might not so much be doin' honest work, by an' large. But a job's a job an' my people don't work outta the goodness of our hearts," Mal says seriously. "So long as we're here, ain't no way we can take any other jobs. We got bills, same as anybody. So… yes. I think some compensation is in order."

Oliver looks to the side, lips pressed together with amusement crinkling at his eyes as he nods. He doesn't worry about money. It's not something he's ever _had_ to worry about. He forgets, sometimes, that for most people it's a really big issue.

"Fine," Oliver agrees. "How about a thousand credits a day we're out here and two thousand for any day where we actually need your team to do any actual work?"

Mal blinks at that, clearly surprised. It's a _lot_ of money. Not to Oliver, obviously, but to a crew of space pirates? It's a small fortune at very little risk.

"I say let's take a few side trips, follow up on a few leads," Mal says offering Oliver his hand to shake on the deal. "Though if we could convert that to platinum instead of somethin' so… legitimate as credits, I'd be much obliged."

"Okay," Oliver returns, biting back a laugh and nodding.

Things are finally starting to work out.

* * *

"This isn't working."

"What? Why not?" Oliver asks, annoyance clear in his voice.

"So, the thing about being a billionaire who works in technology is - apparently - Palmer's _really_ good at firewalls," Felicity says, turning in her chair to face him. "Like… _really_ good. Impossibly good. Which isn't surprising when you think about because _obviously_ he is. I mean, his whole fortune is built off of technology, right? Why wouldn't his system be literally the most difficult to hack into that I've ever seen?"

"You can't… break down the firewall or something?" Oliver asks.

"It's not like a _literal_ wall, Oliver," she says with a vaguely amused look on her face. "I could probably write a virus to disintegrate part of it, but that would take time we don't have _and_ it would be really, _really_ obvious what I'd done. Pretty sure we don't want that."

"So what's our play then?" Mal asks.

Felicity turns to see the rest of their combined crews standing around watching Oliver expectantly.

He sighs.

She knows what he's going to say before he says it. Because of course she does. They're so on the same wavelength these days that it's not even funny. Possibly that's a thing that happens when you wake up nose-to-nose with your limbs tangled together every morning. Maybe.

"Pull a Merlyn Global?" Oliver asks her.

"Yup," she nods as Digg grumbles with distaste. "That'll work."

"What's that mean?" Wash asks looking around. "Should I know what that means?"

"It means we need direct access to the network," Oliver informs them on a sigh.

"Not to be a naysayer, but… we got a plan for that?" Zoe asks cautiously. "Cause Palmer Industries ain't exactly the sort of place you can walk into without an encoded badge and a retinal scan."

"I'm in agreement on that notion," Mal chimes in. "An' I'm sayin' this as someone who may or may not have walked into plenty of places I ain't supposed to be at. Palmer's got a damned fortress and there's no way his computers are gonna be easy access."

"I need the mainframe, not just a computer," Felicity tells him. "So… there's that."

"Right," Mal blinks. "That makes things simpler. I'm sure that's somethin' we can waltz up to."

"Waltzing might be exactly the right word, actually," Inara chimes in.

"'Scuse me?" Mal asks.

"There's a benefit for the outer planets at Palmer Industries tomorrow night," Inara informs him. "Very high end. Invitation only."

"And this helps us how?" Roy asks.

"Companions always have an open invitation to these sorts of things," Sara points out. "Inara can get in without any problem."

"I ain't thinkin' Inara's _schoolin'_ included much in the way of computers, less it's usin' somethin' run on batteries," Jayne says, looking stupidly proud of himself and wagging his eyebrows.

" _Jayne_ ," Mal growls warningly, making the other man huff and grumble in return.

"No," Inara says. "It needs to be Felicity. But there's no reason she can't come with me to the gala."

"As your _client_?" Jayne asks, looking incredibly hopeful.

"As another companion," Inara says simply.

"No," Oliver snaps immediately, not even looking in Felicity's direction.

"I can get her access to the Guild database," Inara tells him. "It would be easy for her to add a file showing her to be a registered companion as well. We'd have no trouble getting in."

" _No_ ," Oliver says again tightly.

"Why not?" Felicity asks, looking up at him from her chair. "As undercover missions go, this is way lower risk than infiltrating an underground casino run by a kidnapper or baiting a serial killer."

"Felicity," he says with a warning tone.

"Do you not think I can do this?" Felicity asks him.

And, _oh man_ is that a loaded question. He laughs a dry humorless laugh and looks up at the ceiling while he gathers up words to reply. After a beat he looks back, jaw tight and finger pointed in her direction.

"That's… not something we're going to find out," he says finally words strained and uneven.

"Oliver!" she protests back in annoyance.

"Why can't Kaylee do it?" Oliver interrupts, looking toward the mechanic.

"Uh…." Simon starts. "That's…"

"Me?" Kaylee asks, flushing with pride. "Pass off as a companion? Golly that's… you really think I could, cap'n?"

Oliver pauses at that, rethinking his statement. Because… _no_ , no he doesn't. But he can't tell that to the clearly flattered girl.

"Of course you could, Kaylee," Inara pipes in, saving him.

"That's a mighty nice thing to hear," Kaylee says bashfully with a whole lot of joy on her face. "But I ain't got Felicity's skill with programing. I'm all cogs and pistons. She's lines of code. It ain't the same."

"This is our way in," Felicity tells Oliver. "Do you want to find out who is trying to kill millions of people or not?"

Put that way, it seems like the answer should be simple. But it's not. The very idea of Felicity even _posing_ as a companion. He hates it. With every fiber of his being.

"It's not like anyone will even pay attention to me with Inara there," Felicity says. "I mean, she knows what she's doing as a companion, right? That will draw everyone's attention."

She's _so very wrong_. And he knows it. Inara appears to, too.

"I wouldn't count on that…" Inara tells her. "A beautiful, unattached companion never goes unnoticed for long. You will get plenty of attention and you'll need to play the role of a companion convincingly. It will be harder to slip away from the gala than you assume."

"No. This doesn't work," Oliver says again. "We need a different plan."

"Fine," Felicity tells him, standing and putting herself toe-to-toe with him. "Then come up with one. But until you do, I'm going to go talk with Inara about how to pass myself off as a companion for a few hours."

"What if I went, too?" Sara offers, clearly sensing that Oliver isn't about to cave on this anytime soon. "I can look out for her, Ollie, provide a distraction if we need it."

Oliver actually hesitates at this because it _does_ offer some measure of comfort.

"See?" Felicity asks cheerily. "That's a good plan."

"I don't like it," Oliver mutters.

"Okay, Captain Grumble-face," Felicity tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye. "Then come up with something else. But for now, that's our best option and we're going to go with it unless you come up with something better."

"We have a lot of work to do if we're going to do a crash course in being a companion in under a day," Inara tells Felicity and Sara. "We should get started."

"Is there gonna be kissin' practice?" Jayne asks with interest. "Can I watch?"

"No," Inara tells him as Mal smacks Jayne upside the back of the head.

"That a 'no' to the first question or the second?" Jayne asks, ducking his head to the side to avoid Mal's hand as it swings towards him again.

Inara doesn't answer, instead leaving the room with Felicity and Sara in tow. It makes Jayne's day.

"We need a better plan," Oliver growls, looking at Digg and Roy.

They don't disagree.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite Oliver's demands and his incredibly sour mood, they do not - in fact - come up with another plan. At least, not a workable one. Buying out Palmer's company is not actually an option in under 24-hours, despite Oliver's serious contemplation of the logistics involved.

Which is why they're here, grounded on Hera, too close to Serenity Valley for Mal and Zoe's liking and too close to Felicity masquerading as a companion for Oliver's liking. A huge portion of the combined crew is in a terrible mood, basically.

"Man, you're gonna strain something if you tense up any more," Digg tells his captain, arms crossed and eyebrow raised knowingly.

"I hate this plan," Oliver says for the umpteenth time, shoving a piece of cargo with entirely more force than is necessary. "What if she gets caught?"

"Yeah. That's what's bothering you," the other man says dryly as the crate thuds against the wall.

Oliver's going to reply. He is. He's on edge and something snarky and defensive is on the tip of his tongue, but it never quite gets past his lips.

He's seen Felicity daily for _years_. He's seen her covered in engine grease and sleeping in an oversized shirt and in little business dresses that fit her absurdly well. She's always distracting, always entrancing, but this…

Oliver's never had a thing for companions before, but Felicity dressed like one sucks the air right out of his lungs and makes his mouth go dry.

"Close your mouth, man," Digg chuckles in a quiet voice.

Oliver does. He swallows hard, which feels like sandpaper in his suddenly-dry throat, and blinks furiously in Felicity's direction. Her curly hair is pinned up in some elaborate way he can't begin to understand, dotted with pearls that he wants to pull from her hair one-by-one, letting those locks free to drift around her shoulders so he can run his fingers through them while he kisses her.

Which he can't do.

Which he _won't_ do.

But he _wants_. He wants so much he can see it.

Her dress is a red silk thing, clingy and suggestive without being overly revealing. It's every inch a companion's dress. Her shoulders peak out from slits in the fabric and her collarbones skirt above the edge of the neckline. There's nothing sexual _showing_ , but the soft, silk fabric drapes over her body like good bedding might and it's maybe the most sensual thing he's ever seen.

He sort of wants to kill Inara a little.

"Does it look okay?" she asks, smoothing the fabric down unnecessarily. "I mean, I'm sure it fits Inara like _way_ better, but it doesn't look like I'm playing dress up in my sister's clothes or something, right? Because that would be bad. Can I pull this off? Tell me I can pull this off. I need to pull this off. It's convincing, right? At least sort of?"

"You look like a million credits," Digg offers up comfortingly, elbowing Oliver who still can't seem to find his voice. "You're gonna have every billionaire in that room eating out of the palm of your hand."

Oliver finds his voice at this. Sort of, anyhow. There's a grumble of distaste, at any rate. Because Digg is right. That's what this dress is meant for, that's what this _persona_ is meant for, and he hates it a lot.

"Thanks, Digg," she says almost bashfully, blushing a little, and _damn it_ if that isn't somehow even more entrancing.

"You're hot stuff, Smoak, I told you that," Sara says, sauntering into the cargo bay in a similarly cut pale-yellow gown. "You're gonna be fending off prospective clients with a stick. Right, Ollie?"

He can't address that. Not directly. But he doesn't miss that Felicity's face falls just a little bit when he bypasses the question entirely. He can't address that either, though. It's too much. They don't talk about these things.

"You don't take out your comm links for anything. Either of you," he orders instead, annoyance flittering through him at the way Sara shakes her head at him in disappointment. "And I want you in and out of there as fast as possible."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Sara says with a sarcastic salute.

"Are we ready?" Inara asks, sweeping into the room with the sort of grace and presence that Oliver has always associated her with.

He tries to picture, for a moment, what Inara would be like if she _wasn't_ a companion. He finds he can't. Inara covered in engine grease or wearing an oversized sweatshirt is as foreign to him as Felicity in a companion's dress.

"Comms. The whole time," he reminds the three women gruffly as they disembark.

"Yeah… you're gonna be a joy listening in to _those_ conversations," Digg says sarcastically as soon as the three women are off the ship. "This is gonna be a long night."

He's not wrong.

* * *

The gala itself is simultaneously as decadent as Felicity expected and nothing at all like she could have imagined. She doesn't have any context for this. Not really. Oliver avoids these kinds of events whenever he can, usually sending Thea in his stead to represent the family. And the few events he _has_ gone to and brought her along for have been smaller affairs.

Palmer, apparently, isn't inclined to do things on a small scale.

The lobby of Palmer Industries, a huge space that's been completely transformed for the event, is ironically opulent, given that this is a charity fundraiser. It's all rich fabrics and impressive sprays of flower arrangements and a glittering ceiling made to look like the night sky.

"A little over the top, isn't it?" comes a voice from Felicity's side, earning her attention.

He's not the first person to approach her since she, Sara and Inara arrived. He is, however, more respectful about it than the last two, whose eyes had most certainly not been focused on her face when speaking to her. How Inara handles this on a regular basis, she has no idea.

"Have to spend money to make money, I suppose," she responds with a thin smile toward the dark-haired man with blindingly white teeth.

"That's what the event planner said!" he replies with a bit more excitement than is probably warranted, bouncing on his toes and probably _ruining_ what are undoubtedly very expensive shoes.

"The event planner?" Felicity questions, looking at the man more closely.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I try to be pretty hands-on with most things at the company, but party planning is not exactly my speciality. My idea of a party would probably involve everyone competing to build a dual core processor as fast as possible, but my event planner advised against party games," he says with a shrug.

"A dual core processor would be a challenge, but I'd go with rebuilding some pulse feedback generators. Now _there's_ a competition. Though… probably there'd be a lot of engine grease involved and that might not be the best idea with all this formalwear. Wait… _your_ event planner?" Felicity asks.

"Well… yes," he replies, still blinking at her in surprise at the tech speak.

"You're Ray Palmer," she deduces, a little surprised.

"At your service," he says with a jaunty little tilt of his head. "And you are…?"

"Megan," she replies immediately.

"Pleasure to meet you, Megan," he says, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "It's unusual to see an unfamiliar face at these sorts of things. Especially someone as lovely as you who's as well-verse in engine mechanics as you seem to be. It's refreshing."

"I don't often get out to Hera," Felicity says, in a voice that sounds a little practiced because it is.

"Well then, I feel like it's my obligation to show you around!" Ray declares. "Unless you're with a client, that is? Wouldn't want to step on any toes. It's a thing I'm prone to, I'm told. I'm great with technology, less great with people. At least that's what my image consultant says."

"No client tonight," Felicity tells him. "Just networking."

"Well then I should give you my card," he offers, pulling a business card from his pocket.

The surprise on Felicity's face _must_ be evident. She knows it. But Ray is, apparently, exactly as bad at picking up on social cues as he said because it doesn't seem to register with him.

"That's… thank you," Felicity manages graciously, palming the card and wondering where the hell she's going to put it because it's not like this thing has pockets.

"Absolutely," Ray says with too much excitement. "I usually go to these things by myself. It would be nice to have a beautiful date who I can talk tech with, too."

"Well, if you want to talk tech I'm your girl," Felicity smiles before her face falls a little in horror, realizing what she's said. "I mean… not _your girl_ , your girl. Obviously. Because I'm a companion. I'm not anyone's girl. Not for more than like… an evening anyhow. Oh _damn it_ , this is where I should have stopped talking a full minute ago."

Ray, however, merely seems more delighted by her verbal flounderings. Possibly he relates, she's not sure, but it does mean that he's keen to stay at her side even more, apparently. His hand settles on her back in a slightly-too-familiar way and he guides her subtly towards a group of nearby people to introduce her around.

Felicity's still not sure how any of this happened, but she's keenly aware of the look Sara's giving her from across the room _and_ the fact that Oliver is probably listening in on all of this.

She spends the next forty-five minutes looking for a way to escape, but it never presents itself. Ray keeps her at his side, introducing her around to various people and asking her opinions on high-spectrum portable radiographs and direct neural-to-processor interfaces.

He's… attentive.

In a way that's not crossing any lines, per se, but also isn't exactly welcome.

There's nothing _wrong_ with the hand he keeps putting on her back or the way he sometimes touches her bare shoulder, but it's just… it's off, leaves her feeling uneasy in a way a companion never would. She doesn't _know_ him. She doesn't really want him touching her, regardless of how innocuous it might be. He never seems to pick up on her discomfort though, which is a stroke of good luck in this case, considering her cover.

She's wracking her brain, again, trying to figure out a way to slip away from him and the pair of board members from Kord Industries that he's engaged them in conversation with, when she spies someone new entering the room and she momentarily thinks she must be seeing things.

"Oh _frack_ ," she breathes out.

"What was that?" Ray asks, looking to her as he rubs his thumb against her spine.

"Nothing," she squeaks out. "I said… 'oh _that_.' About the programming problem in the new X-525s and their tendency to burn out when you need them most. That's all. Well known problem."

Ray's looking at her with some combination of amusement and confusion because this is something they stopped talking about maybe five minutes ago and _her brain has stopped working_. That's only a minor problem, though, because the entire world is just about to get upended because Oliver has just crashed the gala and they're all going to die.

Or be arrested.

Or both.

She shouldn't stare at him. She _shouldn't_. Because, honestly, Ray might be a little socially unaware, but he's not totally inept and she's pretty sure she's not schooling her face _at all_ and that has the potential to be a huge problem. But it's Oliver. And he's wearing the hell out of a tux and locking gazes with her, his blue, blue eyes pulling her in and making her feel like she's drowning.

She can't look away.

She never could.

Oliver walks towards them like he owns the room, all presence and ease that screams he belongs there in spite of the fact that he wasn't even invited. Felicity can't breathe, all the sudden. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop and _oh boy_ is it dangling right now. Ray shifts, his hand finally dropping from Felicity's back for the first time in at least fifteen minutes, and he cocks his head to the side like he's trying to figure something out as he watches Oliver.

"Oliver Queen," he greets, extending his hand as Oliver finally reaches them.

"Ray Palmer," Oliver acknowledges, childishly gripping the other man's hand tighter than is really warranted.

"I wasn't aware you'd be here," Ray tells him, flexing his fingers a little as Oliver releases his grip. "You usually avoid these things like the plague."

"I was in the neighborhood," Oliver says thinly. "Figured I might as well put in an appearance, cut a check."

"Well… I can't object to that!" Ray says with a too-broad smile.

"That was the idea," Oliver says tightly, earning a confused look from Ray before he turns his focus on Felicity. " _Megan_."

"Oliver…" she greets a little warily.

"You two… know each other, then?" Ray says, looking between the two.

"We're old _friends_ ," Oliver says, watching her with an intensity that screams he's purposefully understating things.

"It's a small universe," Felicity adds with a nervous little smile. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"Well… I hadn't planned on it," Oliver responds.

That's not entirely true, she thinks. There's no way he routinely keeps his tux pressed and ready to go.

"Ray, if you wouldn't mind… I'd like to take a few moments to catch up with Oliver," Felicity tells him.

"Of course," Ray says, though she sincerely doubts that he means it. "I'll, uh… see you in a bit, then?"

"Sure," Felicity says, precisely as sincerely.

Inara swoops in the moment Felicity steps away, trying to pull his attention to her, to distract him. It works, after a few moments, but Felicity can still feel his eyes on her as she and Oliver cross the room.

"Are you _crazy_?" she hisses the moment they're out of earshot. "You can't just crash a gala like this!"

"I can," Oliver counters. "In fact, I did. Oddly enough, if you give enough money at a charity gala they don't particularly care if you got an invitation or not."

His hand hovers over her back, right where Ray had been resting _his_ hand. But Oliver doesn't touch her. Still… the heat of his body seeps through the silk and warms her skin and just the _idea_ of him touching her with that kind of ease and familiarity sends a shiver of goosebumps along her skin.

"I had to do something. You've been here too long already and people are going to remember you," Oliver points out. "You've made a hell of an impression. It could be a problem."

"Well, I apologize for not being more forgettable," she bites back with annoyance.

"That's not what I'm…" Oliver starts before rubbing his hand against his forehead in frustration. "Can we just go get what we came for and go home?"

"Fine," Felicity says, the fight draining out of her at his words. "But aren't people going to notice that you showed up just to leave? I mean, you're fairly noteworthy, Oliver."

Oliver pauses at that, looking at her like he knows what he wants to say but isn't sure quite how to phrase it. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and her eyes just fix on that like a damned homing beacon and it's _distracting_.

"These people mostly still remember me as Ollie," he says finally, his voice slow and measured. "I don't really think anyone is going to give a second thought to the idea of me disappearing with a beautiful woman."

"Oh," she says, her mouth sort of lingering in the same rounded shape as the word even as that one syllable drifts off. " _Oh_ , so… they think..."

"Yeah," he says with something between a grimace and a smile.

She's not sure how to read that. But that's beside the point right now. They can deal with this all later. Or never. Probably never, knowing Oliver. Right now they have a computer system to breach.

"Well… okay then," Felicity says finally.

" _Okay_?" Oliver questions.

"I mean… who cares what they think, right? As long as it's not the truth," she says with a shrug, faking feeling more at ease than she really does.

Because, really, Oliver's just told her that pretty much everyone in the room thinks she's sneaking off to have sex with him and let's pretend _that_ isn't a mental image that's currently seared into her brain.

"Right," he says back hoarsely, sounding precisely as at ease as she really is.

"Let's just do this," she says before turning extremely pink-faced in embarrassment. "Getting in the computer system, I mean, not… the other thing. This isn't the time or place for that. Not that there _is_ a time or place for that for us because that's not at all what I'm saying. I'm just saying there's a reason we're here and we should focus on that. And stop talking."

"That's a good plan," Oliver says tightly, gesturing towards a nearby hallway.

She pinches her eyes shut in mild mortification before taking a deep breath and heading the direction he's gestured.

She'd like this evening to end now, please.

Of course, when it _does_ she'll wind up in Oliver's bed, undoubtedly entangling herself accidentally in Oliver's arms but she still - ironically - won't be with Oliver. It's a whole different kind of frustrating. But she'll deal with that mess when they get to it. Right now, she's got this crisis to deal with. It's more than enough to keep her busy.

"Through here," Oliver says, taking her by the elbow and guiding her through a service door she'd not even noticed.

His fingers are resting right where the silk of her sleeve splits and his calloused fingertips inadvertently set upon the softness of her arm. He should let go. He _should_ , but he won't. Instead he keeps his hand right where it is, his thumb tracing a repetitive path against the soft skin at the crease of her inner elbow.

She looks up at him with a question in her eyes, but she doesn't actually ask it. He's a coward, he decides, when he pretends not to understand the look and still fails to release her arm. Instead, he distracts her with the problem at hand.

"In here," he says as they reach a door that says "Restricted: Authorized Access Only" in bold, red font.

"So… no saying we were looking for a restroom if we get caught then, huh?" she asks as he fiddles with the lock on the door and reluctantly lets her arm go.

"We're not going to get caught," he asserts.

" _Seriously_ , Oliver?" she blinks at him. "Why would you jinx us like that?"

"I didn't…" he falters, blinking up at her from where he's crouched down inspecting the lock. "That's not a thing. You know that right?"

"I'm from New Vegas, Oliver," she reminds him. "If you think I'm not at least a little bit superstitious, you'd be wrong. And you just jinxed us."

He presses his lips together firmly and nods up at her.

"Okay," he says, because it's ten times easier than arguing that jinxes aren't real and possibly drawing the attention of a wandering security guard in the process.

"Now you're just humoring me," she says, looking a little affronted.

And, yeah, he is. But he's not sorry at all because even in that whole companion get-up with her make-up artfully applied and her hair arranged so very carefully, the face she's making at him is just so very _her_. And he loves it. A lot. Too much, maybe.

"Come on," he says, somehow working open the lock without even looking at it and rising to his feet.

"How'd you do that?" she blinks at him.

"I have a varied skill-set," he responds with amusement and no small measure of pride.

She brushes past him into the room, watching him out of the corner of her eyes as she goes, and he can't help but grin in response.

"This is going to take a bit," she says as she closes in on the complex system of computers and wires in front of them and takes a good look. " _Holy cow_ , no wonder I couldn't hack in. This is incredible… I wonder if Ray built these himself."

"Yeah… _Ray_ probably mined the materials with his bare hands too. And then he patented it and donated all the proceeds to war orphans on rim planets," Oliver replies sarcastically.

" _Wow_ ," Felicity says, hands stilling on a nearby keyboard as she looks up at Oliver. "What's your problem with Ray?"

"Do you want that in an alphabetical list?" Oliver clips back.

"You didn't have this big a problem with him this morning," Felicity points out.

"Well… I do now," Oliver counters.

"Why? What in the world did he do to-"

"I didn't like the way he was treating you, okay?" Oliver gives up finally, his voice rising a little too loud as he speaks. "He had his hands all over you!"

He feels uneasy in his own skin at the confession as Felicity blinks at him in surprise.

"He thinks I'm a companion, Oliver," she points out slowly after a moment.

"I know that," Oliver replies immediately.

"He wasn't… grabby, or anything. There was nothing… nothing inappropriate," she tells him.

"I just… I'm the captain. It's my job to protect my crew," he falls back on, trying not to note the disappointment shade Felicity's face as he says it. "You were uncomfortable. I could hear it in your voice. I didn't like it."

"Oh," she says quietly in response. "Right. You felt like you needed to protect your crew. That's why you came to the gala."

"Yeah," he agrees, lying through his teeth.

"Well… that makes sense," she says, mostly to herself as she turns back to the keyboard.

"Felicity…" he starts, wanting to say something to make things better but not really sure where or how to start.

"It's fine, Oliver. I'm working, okay?" she asks, not looking up.

It's not fine, though. He knows it's not. But he also can't fix it. And that's frustrating as hell because he hates that he does this to her, but he doesn't know how not to. As days and weeks and _years_ go by, he's getting worse and worse at masking those feelings he's not supposed to have for her. It makes sense, really, because he's never managed to hide anything from her very well.

"This program _should_ get us in, but it needs at least another four minutes," she tells him, standing from the chair and letting her program do it's work.

"Will they know we were here?" he asks.

"They shouldn't," she tells him. "I cover my tracks pretty well. Ray might be damned good at engineering and programming, but cyber security and bypassing it is _my_ speciality. And I'm very good at what I do."

"You are," he agrees. "I couldn't do what I do without you."

"There are other engineers and computer specialists out there, Oliver," she says, looking at him like he's a little crazy.

"But none I want on my crew," he tells her.

It means more than he's saying. It does. He's full of mixed messages today and he knows it but he doesn't want her thinking the _only_ reason he showed up at the gala was because he's her captain, even if he can't quite get himself to tell her that the way she deserves to hear it.

"Thank you," she says quietly, smiling at him in a tiny, genuine way.

"You're welcome," he replies, his voice exactly the same as hers.

It's a nice moment, which is, of course, why it couldn't possibly last. Her program is still running on the computer. It's got another two minutes to go, by his count, but there's the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall getting nearer. Felicity hears it, too. He knows she does from the way she freezes and her eyes go wide. He presses his finger to his own lips anyhow, a reminder to stay as silent as possible.

The person outside _could_ have just passed them by. There's no reason to know anyone's in this room. But the footsteps come to a stop right outside the door and Felicity mouths the word 'jinxed' at him with her eyebrows raised in challenge.

But he doesn't have time to think about that. He can hear someone fumbling with keys outside the door and the program isn't done running and there's really only one way out of this and he _knows_ it but he also sort of hates himself because he wants it so much more than he should.

"Damn it," he breathes out, a barely audible noise as he closes in on Felicity and takes her face in his hands.

"Oliv-" she starts, sounding fully off-kilter, but he steals the rest of his name straight from her lips with the press of his own.

They stumble backwards a few steps until she's pinned against the wall of servers and his body is pressed against her in a way that speaks of _way_ more intimacy than has ever been between them before.

He will live this over a thousand times. He knows this. It will play out again and again in intricate detail in dreams both awake and asleep. But right now isn't about that. Right now is about nothing but _this moment_ and if he's going to kiss her, he's goddamned going to do it right.

It is not a tentative touch of his mouth to hers. It's hunger and want all kinds of repressed things set free and his pulse thuds wildly in his veins because she's exactly as responsive as he could have dared to hoped for.

He knows, _has_ known, that her feelings for him aren't entirely platonic. It wasn't exactly something she hid well, even at the beginning when it was just physical attraction between them. But they don't talk about these things. So he hasn't known the depth of it. Not really. But with her silk draped body pushing back against his and her fingers holding onto his suspenders like she's holding on for dear life as she moans against his mouth, there's really no room to fool himself.

It's the same.

They're the same, her feelings and his.

And that's _thrilling_. And _terrifying._

He groans as his lips prise hers apart and his tongue slides between her lips. He lets his fingers trail up to tangle in her gorgeous blond curls. It might not exactly be removing those silly little pearl pins in her hair one-by-one and letting her hair slip through his fingers, but at least he gets to touch it. At least he gets _this_.

He is a selfish glutton for punishment, though, because he can't just leave it at kissing the breath out of her. He has to see what it does to her, too. He _has_ to.

Whoever is outside is still fumbling with a set of keys when Oliver pulls back to drink in the sight of her face. And it's this, more than anything else, that will haunt his dreams. She's all flushed cheeks and dazed eyes with kiss-stung lips and slightly-mussed hair. Even though she's always beautiful to him, whether she's dressed for a gala or covered in engine grease, he doesn't think he's ever seen her more breathtaking than she is in that moment.

"Oliver?" she murmurs breathlessly, her eyes trailing down to his lips and back up to meet his gaze.

It hurts some that his name is a question. It shouldn't be. He should be able to give her more than that. He can't manage the words. Not now. Maybe not ever. But in this moment, anyhow, he's not limited to words.

There's a key in the lock as he leans in to kiss her again, but he doesn't break her gaze until the last possible second. It's different this time. Every bit as intense, but a slow burn that leaves her stuttering a breath against his lips as he cradles her face in his hands. His lips work against hers, an unyielding languid exploration that he feels like he could get lost in. That he _wants_ to get lost in.

"You can't be in here!" a startled voice squeaks.

Felicity pulls away instantly, her head connecting solidly with the server behind her.

"Oh _ow,"_ she says, rubbing at the back of her head.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks her instantly, his fingers searching for a bump underneath her wild curls. "You aren't dizzy, are you?"

"Not… from hitting my head," she mutters, before looking slightly horrified at realizing she'd said those words out loud.

A ridiculous amount of pride surges through Oliver at that, in spite of the circumstances involved.

"You can't be in here," the intruder says again. "How did you even get in?"

"It was unlocked," Oliver says, partly turning to see a heavyset security guard with an admonishing glare. "We were just… looking for some privacy."

"Yeah. I can see what you were looking for," the guard says dryly. "But you can't be in here."

"Okay. Sorry. We'll go," Oliver offers, glancing toward the computer where Felicity's program is surely done running by now and she'd just have to grab her portable drive back.

Where she'd been hiding _that_ in her dress, he really couldn't begin to guess. It probably wouldn't be healthy for him to be guessing, at this point.

"Can you just… give us a few seconds? Please?" Oliver asks the guard.

"Uh… _no_ ," the guard says like it's obvious. "This is a restricted area. You're lucky I'm not calling Ray Palmer in."

"No!" Felicity says, sounding a little panicky. "Look… you don't need to call Ray. We'll go. We're not causing any trouble. I just… I just…"

Both men are looking at her expectantly and Oliver can see the moment she mentally gives in and says ' _Oh, screw it. Just go for it.'_

"I just need to get my underwear back on, if you don't mind and I'd really, _really_ prefer to do that without security watching," Felicity finally says.

Oliver's mind goes totally and utterly blank at this statement. The guard, however, flushes furiously, shouts 'One minute!' and strides out of the room.

"Come on!" Felicity says, scrambling for the computer the moment the guard is out the door.

Oliver follows. He must. Because they get out of the gala without any additional problems and end up back on Verdant with the information they were looking for in hand. But he doesn't remember almost any of it, if he's honest. He's too distracted by the way her lipstick isn't quite right and her hairpins aren't arranged as neatly and there's a wrinkle in her dress. He did that. _He_ did. And he wants to do it again more than he wants anything else in the 'verse.

His head is still swimming when they step back into the cargo bay of his ship and she turns towards him, shuffling her feet a little in uncertainty.

"So, uh… _that_ happened," she says, turning pink cheeked and biting her lower lip.

"Felicity, we don't-" he starts, but she interrupts.

"No, it's… I get it. That's how the mission worked out," she says with a decisive nod. "And you, ah… you really sold it."

"We both did," he murmurs.

She doesn't seem to know what to say to that so she just nods a little instead and holds up the external drive with the information they need on it.

"I'm gonna just… I'm gonna go work on this," she says. "Let me know when Inara and Sara get back?"

"Yeah," he says, wishing his voice didn't sound quite so pained and used.

She nods against and turns to go, passing Digg and Zoe with a quiet greeting as she goes. The pair smile with identical looks at her before turning to Oliver, eyebrows raised.

"So… that went well," Digg says as soon as Felicity's out of earshot.

"It did," Zoe agrees. "Know what my favorite part was?"

"I don't… but I feel like maybe I could guess," Digg muses.

"It's the part where Felicity followed orders and kept her comm link open the whole time," Zoe says.

"See, I was gonna say it was the part where you could hear Oliver actually _gasping_ her name, but that's pretty much the same thing," Digg counters.

"Right, well, very related anyhow," Zoe agrees.

"I did not… _gasp her name_ ," Oliver bristles.

"We recorded the audio. If you wanna listen," Zoe tells him.

"That didn't happen," Oliver insists.

"If you say so," Digg shrugs.

There's a moment where they just stare at each other. A silent conversation happening with eyebrows alone.

"Delete it," Oliver orders after a moment before stalking out of the room.

"Twenty credits says they're sleeping together before we ever get the new core," Zoe says to Digg, sticking out her hand.

"You're on," Digg agrees, shaking it firmly. "Nobody does repression like my captain."


	7. Chapter 7

"You mean you ain't even _talked_?"

Felicity bites her lips together and focuses on the engine parts she's tinkering with. Computers and engines don't judge her. She's liking them a little better than her friend about now.

"You're bunkin' together," Kaylee points out. "It's been _two days_ since ya got all steamy undercover. How's it you ain't even had a conversation yet?"

"We've both been… busy," Felicity manages, tightening a bolt more than really necessary.

"Avoidin' each other, you mean," Kaylee says, raising her eyebrows knowingly as Felicity glances briefly toward the other engineer.

"I've been working long hours trying to get these upgrades done and he's been… training," she says.

"He's been venting all his frustrations in the gym insteada in bed, more like," Kaylee says.

Felicity turns about twelve shades of red at Kaylee's bluntness. Her new friend is a lot of things, but subtle isn't one of them.

"It's not… we're not… like that," Felicity mumbles towards her wrench.

"I know," Kaylee bemoans. "And for the life of me, I can't figure _why not_?"

"It's complicated," Felicity says simply.

"Avoidin' each other when you're sharin' a bunk is complicated. Sex ain't," Kaylee tells her knowingly. "An' with the way your strippin' that bolt and he's wearin' grooves in the rungs o' that salmon ladder, I'm thinking the both of you could use a good tumble, is all."

"Oh my God," Felicity says, her face burning as she covers it with her hands, completely not caring about the grease that will be staining her cheeks.

"You oughta talk, at least," Kaylee shrugs.

"Like you and Simon do?" Felicity asks, redirecting the conversation back at Kaylee.

Kaylee shifts a little uneasily at that and Felicity raises her eyebrows at the other girl.

"Alright, you've maybe got a point there," Kaylee concedes. "But he's got a lot goin' on with his sister and all. An'... I dunno. I ain't sure he's interested."

"...how is that different from me and Oliver, exactly?" Felicity asks, blinking at Kaylee.

"If you ain't sure he's interested, you surely aren't payin' attention," Kaylee tells her.

She does know he's interested. There's… something there. They both know that, even if they've never talked about it. But there's also more to it than that and she thinks Kaylee might be missing that point.

"Interested and wanting to do something about it aren't the same thing," Felicity points out. "Oliver's… he's been through a lot. I mean _a lot._ And that's kind of putting it mildly, you know? He's got this mission to save the 'verse and he puts that first. We both do, really. It's important. Anything he wants for himself he pushes to the back burner. So, I mean, maybe he _does_ want something with me, but if he doesn't want to act on it then that's his choice. I respect that."

"Well I don't!" Kaylee protests in a near-wail. "I mean everybody deserves a love story, right? An' you two got such a _romantic_ one, all tortured an' beautiful an' the like."

Felicity can't help but smile at the other girl's starry-eyed sigh. She might be brash and overly-insightful, but Kaylee is also an incredibly supportive friend and Felicity knows how rare those are. She's grateful for her, in spite of her well-meaning intrusiveness.

A throat clears nearby and both Kaylee and Felicity startle a little at the noise, turning toward the doorway. It's Simon, looking polished as ever and standing more stiffly than can possibly be comfortable. It makes Felicity wonder precisely how long he's been standing there.

"Simon!" Kaylee says, standing abruptly and swiping at the grease on her cheeks, ultimately just spreading it more.

"Hello," Simon says with a brief smile. "The, ah, the captain asked me to come down, let you know we're making a slight diversion to pick up Mr. Diggle's wife."

"We're picking up _Lyla_?" Felicity asks in surprise, both happy about it and wondering why.

"Apparently Mrs. Diggle has some information about the Alpha-Omega that she didn't want to transmit over a wave," Simon clarifies.

"How's Digg's wife got that kinda info?" Kaylee asks.

"She's ARGUS," Felicity tells Kaylee.

" _Really_?" Simon asks, looking deeply concerned at this revelation.

"Yeah. Why?" Felicity questions curiously.

"No reason," Simon says, fully unconvincingly.

"Simon an' River ain't got much love for ARGUS," Kaylee says conspiratorially.

"Kaylee!" Simon protests.

"It's true, ain't it? We can trust Felicity. She's our friend," Kaylee insists, looking a little affronted on Felicity's behalf.

"It's okay," Felicity assures her. "I get it. He doesn't know me at all. He's just looking out for his sister. I can respect that."

Simon is stiff and wary - two things that Felicity decided days ago were excellent descriptors for the doctor most of the time - but he's watching her like he's trying to weigh the truthfulness of her statement. She can't help but think how good Kaylee would be for this uptight, overly tense man who seems like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.

If there are any parallels there, she actively decides to ignore them for the sake of her own sanity.

"Oliver has history with ARGUS," Felicity tells Simon. "They have a… mutual understanding. Most of the time, we stay out of each other's ways. Occasionally, when our goals line up, we work together. But regardless, Lyla can keep a secret and she's not going to turn you over to ARGUS."

"I appreciate your take on the matter, but you have no idea how badly ARGUS wants my sister," Simon tells her. "And, frankly, I barely know you. I certainly don't trust a friend of yours I've never met. Not when it's my sister's life on the line."

"It's Digg's wife!" Kaylee protests. "I'm sure she ain't the awful sort. Digg's a nice man. He wouldn't marry someone like that."

Felicity can see this escalating into an argument that does nothing but lengthen the distance between her friend and her friend's crush, so she does the best thing she can think of. She heads it off at the pass.

"So you and your sister just stay out of sight while she's here," Felicity says, cutting off Simon as he's about to say something. "She's probably not going to be here that long, right?"

"Just a few hours," Simon confirms.

"So you can just hole up with River and lose a few dozen games of chess while Lyla delivers her intel," Felicity proposes.

"That might be our only option," Simon agrees, still obviously unhappy with the solution.

"Is she bringin' the baby?" Kaylee asks, perking up. "I bet she is. How can you not wanna see the _baby,_ Simon?"

Simon sort of blinks at her but can't seem to find words to respond. He's hard to read, even for Felicity who might as well have a doctorate in How to Read Stoic Men at this point, but she'd lay odds in favor of the idea that Kaylee cooing over babies gives him thoughts he'd rather not acknowledge.

"If Lyla is coming then the Digglette probably is too," Felicity confirms.

"I love babies," Kaylee sighs longingly. "There somethin' beautiful about a life all shiny an' new. She ain't got no troubles yet, just a 'verse full of bright possibilities."

There are cracks in Simon's facade at that, thin and barely visible, but _there_. Felicity sees them. But then she's had lots of practice at knowing what to look for. It's in his eyes, the way they focus on Kaylee as his brow tightens and his lips part ever-so-barely. If Kaylee thinks he isn't interested, she's wrong. She's 100% wrong. Felicity has no doubts about this at all.

"I'm going to go… find my sister," Simon says, clearing his throat. "Mrs. Diggle should be here first thing in the morning."

"'Kay," Kaylee acknowledges before turning to Felicity. "You oughta go get some shut-eye. You ain't slept a wink in days. You gotta be dead on yer feet."

She's been putting it off, but Kaylee is right and the moment she says something, a wave of exhaustion floods through Felicity's body. And it's _stupid_ , it's _so_ stupid. She's been avoiding sleeping because she's been avoiding Oliver because she'd prefer greatly _not_ to avoid Oliver and this doesn't make any sense at all.

They had kissed - as a cover - and it had shaken her to her core, made her want to press her body against his and seal her lips over his and drink him in again and again and again. She knows what he tastes like now, what his body feels like as it pins her and even just _thinking_ about that makes her skin tingle and her heart ache and she's never wanted someone so badly in her entire life.

But Oliver's complicated.

To put it mildly.

And the idea of being _so close_ to something she wants _so badly_ but unable to have it is literally keeping her awake at night. Because how does she do this now? How does she pretend she doesn't know what it sounds like when he moans her name or what it feels like to have his breath ghost across her lips and just sleep next to him like nothing happened? She's spent two days trying to figure that out but she's no closer to an answer now than she was at Palmer's party.

Exhaustion, though, seems like it might imminently force the issue.

"Yeah…" Felicity says when she realizes she's holding a tool in her hand that she can't even remember picking up, much less why it's there in the first place. "I… guess I should try to sleep."

"Say hi to the cap'n for me!" Kaylee says with entirely too much glee as Felicity stands.

Felicity can't offer more than a half-hearted glare back at her friend as she leaves the room. Anything else would take entirely too much effort. And consciousness. She's short on both.

In the short walk back to Oliver's quarters - their quarters? - she manages to convince herself that he won't be there. They've managed to miss each other for days. Why should today be any different? He'll probably be working out or piloting the ship and letting Digg take a break or training Roy. He won't be there.

She convinces herself of this.

Which is, of course, why she's wrong.

 _So_ wrong.

Because not only is he there, he's also shirtless. The 'verse hates her. Or maybe loves her. It's really hard to tell these days. But either way the door to his quarters open and she lets out a strangled, inhuman noise at the sight in front of her because it's shirtless Oliver (which is one of her favorite Olivers, honestly) wearing low-slung pyjama bottoms. She can see hipbones, okay? And every ridge of his abs. And she can't possibly be expected to make coherent sounds at the moment.

"Hi," she manages with some difficulty.

"Hi," he replies.

And, _God_ , his voice is gritty and low and if he could do that on command he wouldn't need the voice modulator when he's in the hood. It makes her shiver and her mind go blank.

"Hi," she says again.

"Felicity… we already did that."

"Right. I know. I just really hadn't thought any further ahead than that," she tells him. "I'm out of words. Possibly I've used them all."

"I'm… fairly certain that's not possible," Oliver tells her with blatant amusement.

He's smiling. He's _goddamned smiling_ and shirtless and honestly it's the sexiest thing she's ever seen in her entire life and her fingers itch to touch him so she clenches them in fists behind her back instead.

"I need to sleep," she blurts out.

"...Okay?" Oliver asks, looking like possibly there's an implied trick question in here somewhere.

"I need to sleep and right now this is my room… our room… and you've been avoiding me. Or, okay, we've been avoiding each other, and I just… I need to sleep," she rambles.

"Do you want me to leave?" Oliver asks earnestly.

And… no. She does not want him to leave. Even a little. She's the opposite of that. Plus it's his room. That's probably the safer thing to point out, when she thinks about it.

"It's your bed. I'm just the the girl you're sleeping with," she says before turning tomato-red and slamming her eyes shut. "You know what I mean."

He says nothing at her verbal gaff and, even though it takes a long moment before she dares to open her eyes and peek at him again, when she does he's staring at her with this _look_. It's heavy and laden with want and it makes her feel like she's in a vacuum, like she's in space and every ounce of air is being sucked out of her lungs. Space does bad things to bodies. Things like ebullism, hypoxia, hypocapnia, and decompression sickness. She knows. She looked all this up before ever stepping foot on a space faring vessel. Because _obviously_ she did.

"I really hope I don't have bubbles in my blood," she mutters beneath her breath.

"What?" he asks confused.

"Nothing," she says quickly. "I just… sleep deprivation makes me wonky."

"Is that a technical term?" he asks teasingly.

She groans, which turns into a whine in the back of her throat as she stares toward the ceiling and bounces on the balls of her feet for a moment. Because this isn't _fair_. He's not allowed to be _this_ close and _this_ adorable and _this_ attractive and still so unattainable. It's an injustice. He's supposed to fight injustices, damn it!

"It's as technical as I'm getting without a solid six hours sleep… which is approximately three hours more than I've had in the last few days, so…" she says, voice trailing off.

"Felicity, we didn't need the upgrades that badly," he tells her, having the nerve to look _concerned_ as he crosses the room and puts a hand on her shoulder. "You should have slept."

She's eye-level with his pecs. Any words that might attempt to escape her lips right now would probably come out something like "hnnuh" or ""nnngh" so she bites her lip firmly and nods at him instead. And squeaks. Let's not forget the squeak. It's so very attractive, after all.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you to bed."

She damned near chokes on her tongue, but he's not actually waiting for a response so that's something going her way anyhow. Instead, his hand on her shoulder skims down her arm to tangle his fingers with hers and she utterly thrills at her decision to wear a tank top to work in today because that was some A+ decision-making on her part. She shivers and her skin prickles in the wake of his fingers and she's not even sorry for the little, contented sigh that whispers past her lips.

"As much as I would love for you to get me into bed," she says after a few steps, not even _caring_ at this point about the double-entendre there because _he started it_ , "I'm sort of in dire need of a shower first. I'm a mess. I'm covered in engine grease."

He pauses at that and looks at her, _really_ looks at her, and her mouth goes dry and her palms sweat. She's never seen his eyes this dark. And they _linger_. His perusal is head-to-toe and back again but it's her lips his gaze zeroes in on. His tongue darts out and wets his lower lip and her breath catches in her throat and it's his voice that makes her realizes that they've both spent the last several moments staring hungrily at each other's mouths.

"It's fine," he tells her. "I couldn't expect to share a bed with you without the sheets getting dirty."

Her eyes bug out horribly at that. She can actually _feel_ it happening and her eyebrows shoot up and she's undoubtedly blushing - again - but Oliver just pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head, silently laughing at himself, apparently. How is it that _her_ accidental verbal blunders lead to sheer mortification but his just make him chuckle at himself? This, too, feels like an injustice.

"You had engine grease on you the day we met," he reminds her.

"And transmission fluid," she remembers.

"It was red," he agrees. "And it had gotten under your nails. You'd just painted them."

His hand reaches up and his thumb brushes across the ridge of her cheekbone, probably swiping at some grease she hadn't even known what there. But her eyes are fixed on him and his eyes are fixed on his hand against her face. It's soft, almost innocent, brims with affection and familiarity and desire and she's so overwhelmed in this moment that her head spins.

"Oliver…" she murmurs, voice trailing off because now she really _is_ out of words.

"Don't worry about the grease, Felicity," he says, smiling in a more reserved way at her as he backs up a step. "It's part of your charm."


	8. Chapter 8

She's more tired than he'd initially realized and it's damnably adorable. She yawns so wide that her jaw cracks and she rubs at her eyes with imprecise swipes. Her feet drag and her shoulders slouch in exhaustion and it all endears her to him all the more. Which seems sort of impossible, all things considered.

"Come on," he says softly, putting his hand on her elbow and applying the barest bit of pressure to nudge her further into the room.

"Need to change," she sighs, looking toward the dresser drawers he'd cleaned out for her use as though they are her nemesis.

"Don't worry about it," he tells her, guiding her toward the bed.

"But I've got to-" she starts but is cut off by a tremendous yawn that brings a ridiculous smile to his face.

"What you've got to do is _sleep_ ," he emphasizes, pressing lightly on her shoulders, encouraging her to sit.

She does. Still yawning, but nodding.

"Which generally works better when you're lying down," he tells her with amusement as she stops yawning and blinks up at him.

"I'm getting there," she tells him, shifting strangely and pulling her arms inside her shirt before freezing. "Could you turn around a second?"

He does so immediately, because she asked, but he's still a little unclear as to why.

"What are you _doing_?" he questions at the rustle of fabric behind him.

"I can't sleep in a bra," she replies and he can _hear_ the blush in her voice. "It's pokey and uncomfortable, which is sort of redundant now that I'm thinking about it."

She's pulling the bra off through the armhole of her shirt. He's positive. It's a thing that, inexplicably, all women seem to know how to do.

"Don't turn around," she orders. "I think I can hit the laundry basket from here. Maybe. I'll let you know when it's safe to look again."

"I _have_ seen a bra before, you know?" he asks bewilderedly.

The noise she makes in response is somewhere between a snort and a guffaw. And… yeah, maybe that wasn't the smartest comment he's ever made, given his history with women.

"What I mean is, we're sharing _one_ laundry basket right now. Our clothes are all mixed together at the moment," he clarifies.

From the sound of the gulp behind him, she clearly had not considered this.

"Unless your three-point throw has improved far more than I think it has, it might be better if I just bring the basket over to you," he suggests.

It's quiet for a long moment, long enough that he actually starts to wonder if she's just given up and fallen asleep. But, eventually, there's a very quiet 'okay' from behind him.

He walks over to the basket and grabs it without looking at her, which is probably for the best because she's _distracting_. He feels entirely too much when he looks at her and he knows it shows. Their current living situation is perilous enough, he should be doing everything he can not to add to that.

But a lot of the time, he can't help himself. His reaction to her is so ingrained, so natural that it takes real effort to tamp it down. This is a fact he's reminded of - vividly - when he grabs the laundry basket and walks back over to her.

She's perched on his bed, looking rumpled and exhausted with wild hair and grease on her ear and a dark purple satin bra in her hand and the whole scenario just instantly rewrites itself in his brain. It should be frightening how easily he can see this being something else, how right it seems that he can envision tossing that bra somewhere behind him and easing her back onto the bed, trailing his lips down the column of her neck while his hands ruck her shirt up.

He wants that. Badly. He knows now what her breath catching in her throat sounds like, what the moan of his name on her lips tastes like, and he's addicted to it, to her. He wants more, craves it on a very basic level, but he doesn't live his life for himself. Not anymore. He isn't allowed to have the things, the connections he craves. He has a mission, he _is_ a mission. That's it and that's all he is, these days.

Oliver Queen is just a mask. He has nothing of himself left to give her.

"Thank you," she says, looking up at him as she puts the garment into the basket.

"Sure," he echoes roughly, putting the basket to the side.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asks.

He swallows hard at the innocently domestic nature of her question. And, he finds, mask or not, Oliver Queen or Arrow, he can't turn that down.

"Scoot over?" he requests in response.

She does, all the way to the other side of the bed, climbing beneath the blanket and curling up beneath the sheets. It's ridiculous. She won't stay there. They both know it. She will toss and turn uneasily until, half asleep, her body finds his and eases into restful sleep against his warmth.

He slides beneath the sheets as well, on the cool side of the bed, and stares at the mass of blonde hair feathering against the other pillow for a moment before he makes a decision.

"Come here," he tells her.

She looks over her shoulder at him, blue eyes wide in surprise. She thinks she misheard him, he's sure of it. He reaches out a hand to her, settling it on her waist and tugging her back toward him. She comes easily, rolling over and inching toward him. He pulls her even closer, ignoring the voice in his head that questions why he's doing this, until she's flush against him.

"We both know you're going to end up on my side of the bed. Might as well give up the pretense," Oliver tells her, his voice coming out richer and deeper than he expected.

"I thought you were big on pretenses," she replies, probably without thinking about it if the look on her face is anything to go by.

He can't really respond to that. She's right. He is. Not because he wants to be, but because he needs to be. Still... in this, he finds he'd rather not pretend. Not with her. Not now.

"Get some sleep," he tells her instead, dropping a soft kiss onto the top of her head.

It's the best night's sleep either of them have had in days.

* * *

Felicity wakes up because she's cold. Okay, so 'wakes up' might be a bit too strong a term. She grumbles and flops around the bed in a manner that she will decide, when more awake, likely strongly resembles a fish on land. It's undoubtedly unflattering, but Oliver's warmth is gone and she's become very quickly very accustomed to him serving as her own personal space heater/body pillow.

"Ol'ver," she mumbles, face smushed into a pillow.

"Hey, go back to sleep," he replies in a hushed tone, his fingers drifting through her hair in a soothing way that might actually have eased her back into sleep had Digg's voice not been in the background.

"John?" Felicity asks, peeking one eye open to see her very good friend standing across the room with his arms folded in front of his chest and an eyebrow raised at her knowingly. "Ugh, it's too early for judgey-face. Why am I getting judgey-face? I haven't even had coffee yet."

"I brought coffee," he tells her, nodding toward a cup on the dresser without changing his stance or lowering his eyebrow at all.

"Oh! See, this is why you're my favorite, Digg," she sighs happily, swinging her legs out of bed as Oliver grabs the cup and hands it to her.

"You don't have to be up yet," Oliver tells her as she drinks deeply from the bitter liquid. "It's early yet."

"Too late. I'm up," she counters, stretching and moving to stand.

It's only the fact that _both_ of her boys avert their eyes that reminds Felicity she's wearing a thin tank top and no bra. Digg looks particularly off-put and Oliver looks… well… she can't really quantify that look, but he's blinking really hard and staring at a blank spot on the wall like it's _really interesting_.

"I'm just… gonna let you two get yourselves put together," Digg says, still unable to look in Felicity's direction. "Just be quick about it, Oliver. We need you in the cargo bay."

"Why? What's wrong?" Felicity asks, grabbing a bathrobe and pulling it around herself.

"River's perched on top of the big pile of crates and won't come down, apparently," Oliver says.

"And Simon's losing his prim and proper mind over it?" Felicity guesses, pulling her hair free from the collar of the robe.

"Just about," Digg replies with a huff.

"Is Lyla here yet?" Felicity asks.

"No… Should be soon, though. Why?" Digg questions, finally looking back in her direction.

"Because Simon isn't exactly keen on ARGUS and he wanted to have River hidden away before Lyla gets here," Felicity explains, draining the rest of her coffee.

" _ARGUS_ is after River?" Digg asks in surprise. "What the hell for?"

"No idea," Felicity shrugs.

"Waller wants all kinds of people for all sorts of reasons," Oliver reminds them. "We can look into it more later, but for now it would probably be a big favor to Lyla if we could get River under control and out of sight before she gets here. Save her the conflict of interest."

"I'll settle for 'out of sight,'" Felicity says knowingly. "I'm pretty sure 'under control' isn't so much an option with River."

The noise Digg makes is somewhere between a grunt and a hum but is fully in agreement.

"I'll be there in just a few minutes," Oliver tells Digg in a clear dismissal.

"We _both_ will," Felicity corrects, even though she realizes this means she needs to take the fastest shower of her life.

"Just make it fast," Digg tells them. "We don't have an ETA on Lyla and you're right. She'd much rather not know that someone Waller is after is on our ship than to have to make a choice about whether or not to tell her. Pretty sure we'd much rather that, too."

Oliver's reaching for a shirt before Digg even leaves the room, but he does leave the room. Rather quickly after his parting comment because time really is of the essence.

"Dibs on the bathroom," Felicity says, brushing past Oliver and grabbing a clean towel off of the dresser on her way.

If the towel happens to be Oliver's, rather than one of hers… well, it's big and fluffy and she's not sorry.

* * *

Rationally, Felicity is well aware that their cargo area is piled high with a tremendous amount of _stuff_ , but it still throws her off-guard. Cargo of any sort is actually somewhat unusual for them. They generally travel fairly lightly and their ship isn't actually built for transport of anything other than people. It's a pleasure cruiser. Or… well, it was before the renovations turning her into a mobile secret vigilante lair.

With the other crew on board though, _plus_ some of their equipment and ship parts and cargo, the cargo area considerably more piled high than usual. And River - lithe, crazy little River - is standing way at the top of a very precariously perched pile of crates.

"River… I need you to listen to my voice," Simon is saying with the patience of a saint and a freakishly even tone.

River's paying him no attention at all, staring around at the blank gray walls as though they're the most fascinating things she's ever seen. Little puffs of laugher drift past her smiling lips and she stands on tip-toe right on the edge of the wobbling crates.

"River, why don't you come down and play jacks with me and Kaylee?" Inara offers, calling up to the girl. "We never did finish that game yesterday. I think it might be your turn."

This too goes ignored.

"What are you doing?" Oliver calls up to her, his tone nowhere near the placating ones used by Inara and Simon.

River doesn't look down toward Oliver, but she does respond, much to everyone's surprise. At least… she _sort of_ responds. She starts speaking, anyhow, which is a kind of progress.

"The crown weighs so heavy. It doesn't sparkle. It _drags,_ fits over the skull like a hangman's noose around the neck. The kingdom breathes and needs and beats with a life force that's not its own," she starts off, looking around the cargo bay like she's looking over a picturesque landscape.

"Exactly how crazy _is_ she?" Felicity wonders aloud.

"Varies by the day," Mal replies with a wince. "It's lookin' like today ain't exactly a sane one."

"Can't you get her down? Will she listen to you? You're her captain after all," Oliver points out to the other man, obviously a little annoyed about the whole situation.

"Hey, River," Mal tries. "How's about you climb on down so your brother's eye stops twitchin'? Though, actually, now that I'm noticin' that, it's actually sort of amusing."

"That ain't real nice, Cap'n," Kaylee chastises lightly.

"I ain't often accused of bein' real nice," he points out.

"'Cause ain't many know you like we do," Kaylee says firmly.

"River, you need to be _careful_ ," Simon shouts up to her, fully ignoring Mal and Kaylee.

"A kingdom isn't just a monarch, you know," River points out sagely, turning on toe-point with a strange sort of grace as Simon nearly hyperventilates from below. "It can't be.

"It's knights jousting in the yards with their lances and the harper holding court, the evil magician playing foe and the shadows that shift in low light, memories masquerading as nightmares," she continues. "Mostly the kingdom is it's hearth, though, the smoky warmth that sustains the lancers, the harper, the monarch. It grounds them and seeps into their bones to stave off the bitter chill of the wild."

Felicity's eyes dart toward Oliver at that. He doesn't look back, but she knows he feels her gaze. He keeps his eyes trained on River instead, his jaw tensing visibly as she speaks.

"Your name is problematic," River says frowning at Digg in consternation. "It doesn't fit."

"Sorry to be a bother," Digg says dryly.

River weighs that for a moment, mulling it over in her fractured mind.

"You're forgiven," she decides eventually, offering it up like an absolution.

"So in this scenario of yours, I'm a king, then?" Oliver asks flatly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she says slowly, looking at him as though he might be crazy. "You're a Queen. Don't you know your own name?"

"Of course," Oliver says, shaking his head more in response to River's antics than to her words themselves.

"But you're in this kingdom, right?" Felicity asks, calling up to River.

"For the time being," River agrees, looking over at Felicity with curiosity.

"So then, if he tells you to come down, you should probably listen, right?" Felicity ventures.

River sighs while everyone else holds their collective breaths. Then, light as a feather, she quickly, gracefully works her way down the towering pile of cargo. Simon grabs hold of her immediately and pulls her protectively into his arms.

"I just liked the view," River says with childlike innocence, looking toward Oliver and Felicity.

"No more climbing the cargo," Oliver tells her firmly.

"That a royal edict?" Mal asks with a raised eyebrow.

Oliver blinks back with no amusement.

"Uh… yeah," Mal says, clearing his throat. "Cap'n Queen's right, River. Cargo ain't there for climbin' and there ain't no view up there but the walls."

"You lack imagination," she tells them as Simon turns her and leads her gently away with Kaylee and Inara in tow.

"Lack imagination," Mal scoffs under his breath. "Rather lack that than whatever it is she's lackin'."

Oliver mostly ignores the other captain, though Felicity is pretty sure that the longer this goes on the more questions he's got about what exactly is going on with River. But, now's not the time for that.

"Did Sara and Roy leave yet?" Oliver asks Digg.

"A couple of hours ago," Digg nods. "They should be back late tomorrow."

"They're off ship?" Mal asks surprises.

"They're bringing my sister back," Oliver tells him.

"Wasn't aware you _had_ shuttles," Mal says.

"We don't," Felicity jumps in. "We retrofitted the escape pods for short-term travel. They're fast but not what you might call comfortable. Think of them like… like a motorcycle. Only in space and able to hold three people. So, I guess that metaphor isn't exactly a great one. But they're… you know… _zippy_."

"Zippy?" Oliver asks in amusement.

"Sure," Felicity says, shrugging one shoulder. "They zip along quickly. Zippy. Like a motorcycle."

"When were you last on a motorcycle?" he asks her curiously.

"I mean… _never_ , actually," she admits.

"We should fix that at some point," he replies, which maybe short-circuits her brain a little.

"You've got a _motorcycle_?" Mal asks in surprise. "That _runs_? That's gotta be worth a fortune. I mean, there's vintage and then there's _vintage_."

"It's from before," Oliver tells him. "The idle rich are hard to entertain and even harder to buy presents for."

"Can't say as I ever had that problem," Mal responds blankly.

"This causes some sleeping arrangement problems, you know?" Felicity prods.

"No it won't," Oliver counters. "Thea can bunk with Inara and Kaylee in your room."

"Oh, okay," Felicity snorts. "Yeah, that'll happen."

"It… will," Oliver says uncomfortably.

"Oliver, I know she's your sister, but… I mean there's a zero percent chance she's not going to be sleeping with Roy. Sorry," Felicity tells him.

The look on Oliver's face is supremely uncomfortable with this conversation.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but she's right, man," Digg chimes in.

"We'll… figure it out later," Oliver says uneasily, stretching his neck to the side.

"You… this is why you had Roy bunking with the sheppard, isn't it?" Felicity asks, eyes widening as pieces slide together in her mind. "You _knew_ Thea would be on board at some point during the trip so you put Roy with the preacher?"

Oliver scratches at his neck rather than answer, which is really sort of an answer unto itself.

"Oliver!" Felicity half-protests, half-laughs.

"Captain," Wash's voice calls out over the comms to Oliver's immediate and obvious relief. "We've got a shuttle closing in. Looks like Lyla's here."

Oliver strides over to the nearby wall panel and thanks the pilot before looking back at Digg, Felicity and Mal.

"Wash has excellent timing," Digg notes.

"Come on," Oliver says, ignoring the other man's words. "Let's go meet your wife."

Mal excuses himself - not much interest in being seen by _anyone_ from ARGUS, even if it is Digg's wife - but Felicity, Oliver and Digg head toward the docking hatch to greet Lyla. As it turns out, Kaylee and Felicity had been correct. It's not just Lyla they're greeting, but baby Sara, too.

"Welcome aboard," Oliver says as Lyla steps through the hatch with Sara in her arms, the pair of them being pulled into Digg's not-insubstantial embrace almost immediately.

"Thank you, captain," Lyla nods, somehow looking official and business-like even with Digg's arms wrapped around her. "I wish I could stay longer, but I only have the day. I need to get back before Waller realizes I've been here."

"Well, you're welcome anytime, Lyla. You know that," Oliver offers as Digg's shoulders droop at the revelation of his wife's plans.

"Man, she's grown since I saw her last. Look how big she is!" Digg says in awe, taking Sara from Lyla.

The nine-month-old reaches out for him without any hesitation, which clearly thrills Digg. It's been three weeks since they've met up with Lyla last. Argus keeps her busy and she's dedicated to her career. But Oliver knows it's hard on his friend seeing his wife and daughter so little.

"Is there somewhere we can talk? I've got a lot of information for you and not a lot of time," Lyla tells them.

"We can use the mess," Felicity offers. "Unless you don't want someone else wandering through…?"

"Someone else?" Lyla asks warily. "Who else is here?"

"It's… a long story," Oliver says with hesitation, clearly not wanting to get into it. "We temporarily have some guests."

"You have guests… in your vigilante ship?" Lyla asks in disbelief. "Isn't that a little counterproductive to the whole secret identity concept?"

"They figured out who Oliver was pretty quickly," Felicity tells her. "Luckily we're more or less on the same page as them, mission-wise."

Lyla looks skeptical at this and frankly Felicity can't really blame her. If she hadn't been here every step of the way, she'd be skeptical, too.

"I know how it sounds, but we can trust them on this," Oliver tells her.

"Maybe _you_ can, but I'm not sticking my neck out where I don't have to," Lyla tells him. "This Alpha-Omega is serious business and even telling _you_ anything is enough to get me charged with treason."

"Our quarters?" Felicity asks, looking at Oliver.

"Did I… miss something here?" Lyla asks looking between the two of them.

Digg snorts from where he's tickling Sara at Lyla's side.

"If only," he added while Oliver glares at him.

"Everyone's had to bunk up with someone else for the time being," Felicity says uneasily. "We've got more people than rooms."

" _Ah_ ," Lyla says. "That makes sense, then. Almost."

The implication that them living together _wouldn't_ make sense otherwise has Felicity feeling a little indignant, but Digg huffs a laugh again and baby Sara giggles with her father and it's endearing enough that Felicity's defensiveness fades almost instantly. Oliver's too, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

"Our quarters are fine," Oliver agrees belatedly, nodding his head toward the doorway.

Maybe it's because of Lyla's words or maybe it's because of their proximity lately, but when Felicity steps forward to head into the hall, Oliver's hand immediately settles itself on the small of her back. Her footsteps falter momentarily and she looks up at him, questions written in her eyes. He smiles, thin but genuine, in response. He doesn't remove his hand though, not by a longshot. Instead his thumb strokes a small line up and down her spine.

There's a huff of noise from behind them and Felicity glances back to see Digg shaking his head and Lyla looking at her as though they aren't fooling anyone but themselves. Maybe she's right. Then again, maybe not. They aren't exactly doing so well fooling themselves these days. Repression isn't _really_ the same thing as denial, after all.

"Um… this way," Felicity says unnecessarily as they head out into the hall.

They don't make it more than a few steps, though, before they run into someone. It's an encounter that goes absolutely nothing like Felicity would have thought it would.

"Morning, Shepard," Felicity greets, ready to sidestep the man and walk past.

But the preacher is looking past her, suddenly standing stock still, with his eyes fixed and surprise etched into every single one of his features.

"Agent Michaels…" he says with great trepidation.

"Agent _Book_?" comes Lyla's completely incredulous voice.

"Ah, not an agent anymore," Book replies. "That was… another life. I'm not that man anymore."

Oliver is openly appraising the man as he clearly hadn't done before, suddenly questioning everything he thought he'd known about him. Digg, too, looks extremely ill-at-ease.

"This ship tends to do that to people," Lyla observes, glancing toward Oliver.

"I'm a man of God, now," Book tells her, wearing his title like a layer of armor. "Found my calling."

"I'm surprised Waller allowed that, given your… areas of expertise," Lyla observes.

"Waller might be… misinformed about my survival," Book acknowledges. "I'd appreciate it if she were kept that way."

Lyla nods slowly at Book as Felicity's eyes dart between them as though she's watching a tennis match.

"Well, I think it's in both of our best interests to forget that we saw each other here," Lyla offers slowly.

"We understand each other perfectly then, Agent Michaels," Book says with a deceptively demure nod of his head. "I'll let you folks be on your way."

He walks past them then, rounding the corner out of their line of sight before Lyla closes in a few steps to stand next to Oliver.

"You and I need to have a chat about _exactly_ who is on this ship," she tells him in a hushed voice.

For all her love of Serenity's crew, Felicity finds she can't really disagree.


	9. Chapter 9

"What exactly have you guys gotten yourself into?" Lyla asks sharply as soon as Oliver and Felicity's door shuts behind the small group.

Oliver, Felicity and Diggle all look at each other for a moment, silently asking each other the same question. What _have_ they gotten themselves into, exactly. They'd thought they'd known, but given Lyla's reaction…

"Why don't you tell _us_ ," Oliver replies.

The disbelief on Lyla's face is somewhat monumental.

" _Agent Book_ was supposed to be dead," Lyla tells them. "He was Waller's top interrogator. He disappeared near the rim three years ago."

"By interrogator, you mean…" Felicity says, voice trailing off.

"Exactly what you think I mean," Lyla confirms. "He's dangerous. _Brutal_. He scared _me_. You need to be very, very careful around that man. Shepherd or not, he's not someone you let your guard down around."

"A lot can change a man in three years, Lyla," Oliver says slowly, obviously trying to reconcile the shepherd he knows with the man Lyla's describing.

"That's true," Lyla allows. "But you know better than anyone that that kind of darkness isn't something you ever really leave behind."

Oliver's visibly uneasy at her words, frame tense and jaw tight as he stares back at her, his lips pressed thinly together. Felicity can't quite stand the grim look on his face, the sense of acknowledgement and acceptance of Lyla's words.

She wants to declare it's not true, even though she's not sure she fully believes that. Oliver's been through some horrible things - done some horrible things - and she is completely aware that she doesn't even know the half of it. But he's so much better now. He fights to save people just as surely as he fights to reclaim himself. From Lian Yu. From Waller. From the Bratva. From everyone who tried to take a piece of his soul.

He's not the same man he was before the darkness Lyla's talking about touched his life, but that doesn't mean he hasn't left that darkness behind, clawed his way out to be someone better, something better. He has. He's a _hero_. He's _her_ hero, even if they don't say things like that to each other.

There's too much that would tumble out if she opened her mouth right now, so Felicity bites her lips together and slips her hand into Oliver's instead. She doesn't even really think about it before she does it. If she _had_ she probably would have stopped herself. Things have been strange enough between them lately as it is and while Oliver is a relatively tactile guy, she's very rarely the one to initiate contact between them. But… but she thinks maybe he needs this right now, some sense or reassurance, a reminder that he's not alone and she believes in him.

It's not much, really, just a light tangle of fingers, but it obviously surprises the hell out of him. His eyes snap from Lyla to her the second her fingers brush his. Confusion and wonder paint his face in turn before the thin press of his lips curl up slightly at the edges of his mouth and his gaze softens to something that she's going to call gratitude because calling it anything else is entirely too much for her to deal with at the moment.

Digg clears his throat from somewhere behind them and Felicity actually jumps at the way the noise breaks through the moment she's inadvertently created. She starts to pull her hand away, but Oliver's thumb starts stroking the skin along the side of her hand and she finds very quickly that she doesn't have the willpower to pull herself away from that. It makes it easier that Oliver isn't looking at her. That might be overwhelming.

"I'm not ready to condemn Book for what he did in the past, but thank you for the heads up," Oliver says to Lyla, voice steady and serious as if he's not holding Felicity's hand and tracing the length of her thumb with his finger while he speaks.

Felicity's not actually sure how he's finding words right now. She's pretty sure talking would be beyond her at the moment.

"Of course. Tell me about the others," Lyla replies in her typical no-nonsense tone. "Who are they? How did you meet them and why are they here?"

"It's a crew of smugglers," Oliver admits. "They'd been hired to steal the alpha-omega thinking it was a shipment of penicillin. We heavily damaged their ship in an attempt to stop them so they're on board until we can get some replacement parts."

"What happened to the alpha-omega?" Lyla asks briskly.

"I disposed of it," Oliver tells her.

"How much was there?" She continues.

"A crate's worth," Oliver tells her. "Easily enough to take out a small rim planet, if that was the goal."

"If only that were all of it," Lyla says, shaking her head. "Two agents died earlier this year infiltrating a storage unit holding the alpha-omega. There were hundreds of crates. More than enough to wipe out _all_ the rim planets."

"Why are we just finding out about this _now_?" Oliver asks with no small measure of annoyance.

"It was need to know. And you didn't," Lyla says plainly. "Now that you're involved, it doesn't make sense to keep you in the dark. But before it would have just meant more complications with too many unknown variables. Who contracted the crew?"

"Badger," Oliver responds. "But I doubt he knew what it really was."

"No," Lyla agrees. "This transaction went through a lot of layers. Badger is a low-life, but he's also just a middleman. I doubt he even knows what the alpha-omega _is_."

"You said you had information about it that you couldn't transmit on a wave," Oliver reminds her.

Lyla sighs and looks to Digg for a moment before her gaze resettles itself on Oliver.

"Waller's looking for it," Lyla tells him.

Oliver winces at that, his grip tightening against Felicity's hand a little. Instinctively, her thumb starts tracing a soothing line against his fingers just as his had been doing a moment before.

"What the hell does ARGUS want with bioweaponry?" Digg asks warily, holding his daughter a little tighter just at the thought.

"I don't know," Lyla says with a lot of gravity in her voice.

" _You_ don't know?" Oliver probes.

"I'm not in the loop on this one," Lyla admits, the seriousness in her eyes very clearly relaying how worrisome this is all on its own.

"Could she be trying to get ahold of it to keep it safe from other people trying to get it?" Felicity asks hopefully.

"It's possible," Lyla acknowledges. "We know the League has been after it for some time and there's some evidence that someone in one of the core planets with a _whole_ lot of money has been looking for it, too."

"Doesn't matter," Digg asserts.

"Johnny-" Lyla starts.

"It doesn't, Lyla," Digg tells her. "Waller's no more trustworthy than the League. You want her to have the power to wipe out whole solar systems? You trust her with that? 'Cause I don't."

"ARGUS works for the Alliance, Johnny, in case you've forgotten that," Lyla points out.

"Yeah. And they've _always_ done right by the rim planets, haven't they?" Digg asks. pointedly. "How many friends did we lose on Santo because the Alliance cared about appearing like they were defending the rim planets more than they actually cared about defending the rim planets? Now maybe Waller would get the virus and destroy it but maybe she'd slap on a pair of blue gloves and drop a few vials over populated areas on the same planets you and I fought to protect. You willing to take that chance? 'Cause I'm not."

Lyla sighs in frustration, probably more at the reality of the situation being spelled out so definitively to her than anything else. All of this has to have occurred to her already. But Lyla walks a very fine line. She supports the Alliance. She supports her husband, too. And their team. She might be their eyes and ears inside of ARGUS, but she also genuinely believes in their ability to do good by the 'verse.

"I don't think anyone should have that kind of power," Lyla says finally after a moment. "There's no possible good that outweighs the risk."

"Good," Oliver says somewhat gruffly. "Then we're all on the same page. We need to find _all_ of the alpha-omega and destroy it."

"The thing is…" Felicity says uneasily as she thinks it over. "If one crate was in transit for Serenity's crew to steal, what's to say the others aren't as well. And if they're being moved..."

"Someone has a plan for them," Oliver finishes for her. "And we don't know their timetable _or_ where the other crates are."

"It's _Serenity's_ crew you took on?" Lyla asks sharply. "Captain Reynolds and his people?"

"Yes. Why?" Oliver asks.

"You have the Tams," Lyla says, looking between the three of them. "River Tam is on this ship?"

"You want an answer to that?" Digg asks his wife.

Lyla pauses at his words before tilting her head in acknowledgement.

"If we _did_ have River Tam on board - and I'm not saying we do - why would that matter?" Felicity asks. "What does Waller want with her?"

"River Tam is a weapon," Lyla says a little anxiously.

"She's just a kid," Oliver replies. "She's no older than Thea."

"She's ARGUS' attempt to recreate the mirakuru is what she is," Lyla says boldly.

"...What?" Felicity breathes as Oliver stares back at Lyla with wide eyes.

"Waller couldn't get the mirakuru, but she wanted its capabilities so she tried to recreate it," Lyla says. "She wanted a superhuman assassin that she could control. And she got that in River. Mostly."

"What do you mean _mostly_?" Felicity prods.

"I mean, it's not as though Waller got the control she wanted, is it?" Lyla asks. "They weren't done… programing her, for lack of a better term, when her brother broke her out of the Academy. None of the other candidates did as well as River. Most of them didn't make it past the initial stages. But River… She's deadly and dangerous, highly unstable."

"I don't know how you can work for her," Digg says harshly. "Your boss is a woman who turned a teenage girl into a brainwashed assassin? That's what you're telling me? How the hell can you support this, Lyla?"

"We were on Santo when all this happened, Johnny. I didn't have any part in what happened to River," Lyla points out.

"And now?" Digg prompts. "You gonna tell me Waller's changed?"

"Of course not," Lyla replies. "But not everything ARGUS does is sinister. There's good work, too, Johnny. You _know_ that."

"And that just makes the rest of it okay?" Digg asks. "What if it were Sara?"

"Don't you _dare_ bring her into this," Lyla snaps.

"She's growing up in ARGUS, Lyla! She's living on a ship where they _brainwash children_ to _turn them into assassins_ ," Digg shouts as his daughter whimpers at his tone and clings to his neck. "I'm not okay with that. And if you are then I'm not okay with that either!"

Felicity feels very much like an intruder all of the sudden, which is understandable but also sort of ridiculous because they're in her room. Or Oliver's room. Whoever's room. The room she's living in for the moment. Whatever.

"If we're gonna have this conversation, it's probably one we should have without your friends standing here looking like they'd rather be anywhere else," Lyla points out.

"Fine," Digg replies. "You're right. About that, anyhow. If we're done here, you and I are gonna go have a chat in my quarters."

"Lead the way," Lyla agrees, gesturing broadly toward the door.

They stalk out the door, but the tense atmosphere doesn't leave with them. It lingers, hangs in the air like smoke, and Felicity suddenly realizes that she and Oliver are alone in his room room, she's holding his hand and the tension is choking her.

"Um…" Felicity starts, slipping her hand out of his. "So…"

Oliver's looking down at his hand like something is missing. And it is. But that low-level sustained intimacy is too much for Felicity right now and she needs some room to breathe.

"So…" Oliver echoes.

"We have sort of a lot of problems right now," Felicity points out.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees, rubbing his thumb and his forefinger together in a way that makes her wonder if he's longing for a bow or her hand.

"Got a brilliant plan for any of them?" Felicity asks hopefully.

"I don't even have a regular plan for any of them," Oliver huffs a laugh.

"We can't let Waller get River," Felicity tells him.

"I know," Oliver replies. "She'd have an explosive implanted in her spine the second Waller got her hands on her. She's lucky she escaped before Waller started doing that."

"Do you think Book knows more about what happened to her than he's saying?" Felicity asks.

"I think… I think it's possible," Oliver admits. "And I think I'm not sure _what_ Book knows anymore, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now. But I do wish that Thea weren't already on her way. I'd rather not have her on the ship during all of this. I want her safe."

"We should find a way to get her to one of the core planets," Felicity agrees. "At least until we find the rest of the alpha-omega. She's not exactly out on the rim, but her club isn't exactly in the clear either."

"If you wanted to wipe out the Glades system, you wouldn't leave the only prospering planet out of it," Oliver acknowledges. "Without that planet, the whole system would crumble. And Thea's club is _exactly_ the sort of place you'd let loose a bioweapon like alpha-omega. It would have the biggest impact, spread the effects the furthest."

"She won't like leaving it," Felicity points out.

"I know," Oliver says. "There's… some business with my mother's estate that I've been putting off. Papers that need to be signed. It's as good a reason as any to get Thea away from the rim and back to Starling. I was already planning on talking to her about some of that when she was here anyhow."

This is hard for him. Talking about his parents always is. For all the ways that Oliver has saved so many people, Felicity knows in her bones that he feels like he failed them, like he fails those who matter to him the most. Her hand slips into his again, seemingly of its own accord, and some of the tension in his face just dissolves at her touch.

"I was going to give her their wedding rings," Oliver says with a sigh, nodding his head toward the dresser where there's two little boxes she hadn't noticed before. "She should have had them from the start, but the police sent me mom's. I had my dad's from… before. I'd thought, at the time, if I ever got back that maybe my mom would want it. They've just been sitting in my drawer for months and… I'm tired of seeing them sitting there. They aren't a good reminder."

"Okay," she says. "If that's what you want."

"It is," he says. "I shouldn't. I know. I don't want to put them in the bank. It would be like… like burying them again. But I can't keep looking at them either. Maybe they won't be as hard for Thea to look at as they are for me."

"Oliver… I'm not an expert on dealing with this kind of thing," Felicity ventures. "But it seems to me that however you need to deal with losing them is okay. Putting their rings away or giving them to Thea… you don't need to feel guilty about that. I might not have known your mother well, but I know she loved you. Very much. And I have no doubt that she would want you to do whatever you needed to do to move forward. Those rings are just _things_. If looking at them doesn't remind you of the good times with your parents… I think your mom would want you to stop. Because what's the point?"

He stares at her as he weighs her words and the air feels heavy. His eyes are _so blue_ and his gaze so unwavering. The way he looks at her, it's like he sees everything, every part of her, and that's thrilling and terrifying and exciting and she shouldn't want it as much as she does. But _oh God_ she does. She loves moments like this with him, craves them in a way that defies reason. Because nothing will come of it _._ She knows that by now. Oliver might hold her hand and stare at her like she's the only person in the 'verse, but he also isn't ready to start something with her. Maybe he never will be.

"You are… remarkable," he tells her quietly after a beat.

"Thank you for remarking on it," she replies barely above a murmur as his thumb traces the line of her inner wrist and shivers shoot through her body like lightning.

"I'm not… sometimes I'm not very good at telling people in my life how important they are to me," he continues, his voice still low and gritty in a way that makes her breath catch in her throat.

"Oliver…" she manages, but any words beyond that get lost under the weight of the tension in the air.

"Especially with you," he tells her. "I wouldn't be me without you. I couldn't do any of this without you. You make me better. You make everything brighter. You make me feel… you make me feel like I'm not still stuck in the black. I just… I don't really have the words to express that to you the way you deserve."

"I feel like you did a pretty good job of it just there," she chokes out on an exhale.

"It's a start, anyhow," he replies.

She's going to say something - what, exactly, she has no idea - but there are going to be words. And then… and then there's an overpowering smell of cloves and lemons that wafts through the room and it makes no sense at all.

"What is-" she starts before coughing.

Oliver's eyes go wide and she knows immediately, without him saying anything, that he knows exactly what that smell is.

"Sit down," he tells her quickly, tugging her by the arm.

"Oliver, what?"

"Sit down before you pass out," he tells her.

"I don't understand," she says, sitting on the bed as she speaks.

"It's a gas, GBK. Fast-acting. I've seen ARGUS use it," he tells her hurriedly, sitting next to her as a wave of dizziness rushes over her. "It smells of lemons and cloves and it's going to make us all pass out and when we wake up…"

"When we wake up, what, Oliver?" she demands, her tongue feeling heavy as sudden exhaustion seeps into her bones. "What happens when we wake up?"

"We won't remember anything," he tells her, his voice sounding very far away as darkness fills her vision and she slips away into an unnatural slumber.


	10. Chapter 10

The fogginess that usually comes with waking up clouds Felicity's mind as she blinks towards alertness. But it doesn't dissipate. Nothing clears.

Confusion settles over her like a blanket. What _happened_? Where _is_ she? She has no idea. She tries to search her memory and finds… nothing. Absolutely nothing. A mild sense of panic sinks in at that. Who is she? What happened to her?

She scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, moving to the center of the room and wrapping her arms around herself as she scans her surroundings. She's dressed, she notes immediately, which is definitely a plus considering she has absolutely no idea what's going on and she's not alone in the room. Belatedly, she realizes she'd been asleep half on the bed and holding hands with someone else. He's more sluggish than her in waking up and she can't see him well, but her hand is still warm from where his fingers had been tangled with hers. She doesn't know what that means, though. She doesn't _remember_ anything.

"Who are you?" she asks as the man rubs his eyes and sits up, giving her her first good look at him. "Holy shit you're good looking."

He pauses and looks at her with some mixture of surprise and amusement. This only serves to make him _more_ attractive, which is beyond ridiculous.

"I mean… I didn't mean to say that," she backtracks, flustered with reddening cheeks. "That doesn't matter. I mean, probably it does to you. And maybe me. I don't know. That's not the point."

"There's a point?" he asks, voice rumbly and sleep-laden and unfairly giving her chills she definitely doesn't need.

"Who are you? That's the point," she clarifies.

"Who are _you_?" he counters.

"I… I asked you first," she says uneasily, because admitting she has no idea who she is at the moment seems unwise.

"I'm…" he starts before his face draws into a frown.

"You don't know, do you?" she realizes aloud, oddly feeling more at ease with him knowing that. "Oh thank God."

His brow knits in response, but he doesn't say anything, instead watching her warily.

"I mean, not 'Thank God' like thank God you don't know who you are. I mean 'Thank God' like thank God I'm not the only one. I don't know who I am either," she tells him after a beat, taking a step toward him before stopping herself abruptly. "I just woke up a moment before you did and… I don't remember anything."

"Me either," he admits cautiously after a moment. "What happened to us?"

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out," she tells him with certainty. "I think we're on a ship."

There are no windows in the room and the ceiling is curved like it's reflecting the shape of a ship. And the walls… they're more like bulkheads than your typical wall. She's fairly confident they're on a ship, anyhow.

"Whose room is this?" he asks, standing and skimming it.

"I think it's ours," she says with a little surprise, looking through the open closet door to see both men and women's clothes hanging in it.

"I think you're right," he replies, but his voice is a little distant, like he's turned away from her.

She turns to look at him and follows his gaze to the top of a dresser where he's flipped open two small jewelry boxes. There are wedding bands staring back at her. Metaphorically staring, of course. Not with actual eyes, though the rock on the engagement band is possibly as large as her eye. And… wow.

"Oh _wow_ ," she manages, as that's apparently the only thing in her brain at the moment.

"Yeah…" he echoes, eyes fixed on her instead of the rings.

"We're _married_?" she asks him, as though he actually has the answer.

"Looks like," he agrees, openly appraising her as he speaks.

"Good job, self!" she cheers under her breath, but loudly enough that he clearly hears it if the amusement on his stupidly handsome face is anything to go by.

"You're… you haven't seen yourself yet," she offers up. "Trust me, you won the genetic lotto."

"You haven't seen yourself yet, either," he reminds her, his voice weighty and his gaze intense.

"Oh…" she echoes, because she honestly hadn't even thought of that and the implication that a man who looks like he does finds her attractive sort of short-circuits her brain. "Why don't we have a mirror?"

"How would I know?" he asks her with a short laugh. "I don't remember anything."

"Well, we're buying ourselves a mirror," she announces firmly.

"Okay," he agrees easily.

"Okay?" she asks.

"Honey, I'm pretty sure I'd be happy to get you anything you want," he says with a small laugh.

She blinks in response because… _wow_ that just… that doesn't quite compute. Server down. Operating system failure. Irrecoverable hard drive crash.

"Honey?" she asks, because while that's far from the only thing in what he's just said that spawns questions in her mind, but it's the _first_ thing and she's got to start somewhere.

He shrugs almost sheepishly and it's so endearing that that honestly can't quite stand it.

"I don't know your name," he reminds her.

"But you'd get me anything I want?" she asks blankly.

"There's… something about you," he starts, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before he continues. "I've known you for all of five minutes at most and already I know there's no one I'd rather lose my memory with. You're effortlessly charming. And funny. And beautiful. And I just… I want to keep that smile on your face."

"Oh…" she breathes, wide-eyed and more than a little thrown. "Oh that's… wow."

"Yeah," he agrees.

They sort of just stare at each other for a moment. Her skin tingles and the air crackles and they don't even _know_ each other but the atmosphere is absolutely electric with attraction and she frankly can't believe her luck. She has to have the best case of amnesia ever.

"I, um, I don't think we've been married long," she says after a moment, breaking the silence but not the tension.

"Why's that?" he asks, his voice softer than before.

"No groove on my ring finger," she says, holding up her left hand.

He looks to his own hand and finds it similarly unmarked.

"We should get to work on changing that," he tells her a little roughly.

"You want me to wear the ring?" she asks.

"Yes," he says, more firmly than she'd expected. "I want you to wear the ring… if you're willing."

"Yes," she agrees, heart pounding furiously in her chest as she wishes she could recall what it was like the _last_ time he asked her to wear an engagement ring.

He doesn't look to the ring box as he grabs it, nor does he look at her hand as he takes it. His eyes are fixed on hers. She can scarcely breathe for the intensity in his gaze. And, _God_ , how can they be this intense? She doesn't even _know_ him. He doesn't know her. But there's something innate in them that draws them together, the pull is magnetic and she's not sure she could back away if she wanted to. And she doesn't want to.

The ring slides easily onto her slender finger, an easy fit that feels strange for the weight of it. He keeps his eyes on her, unwavering and burning as he pulls her hand up and kisses the inside of her wrist in a way that could be totally chaste but really, _really_ isn't.

"Oh," she breathes out in surprise.

"I would very much like to know what it's like to kiss my wife, if that's okay with you," he says with so much focused intensity that she shivers at his words.

She responds - she definitely responds - but she doesn't do it with words.

She rises up on her toes and brackets his face with her hands, her eyes searching his. It's slow. There's some hesitation on both of their parts, a sense that everything is going to change, the delicious air of anticipation saturating the room.

It starts softly, barely a whisper of his lips against hers as they both close the gap between them, but it's still enough to jolt her to her core. Even at the most innocent touch of his lips to hers, she feels it everywhere. It resonates through her body in a way she wouldn't have thought was possible if she weren't currently experiencing it.

" _Oh_ ," she breathes against his lips.

He groans in response and some measure of control slips as he takes the parting of her lips as an invitation to turn things a little less chaste.

She's not exactly complaining.

It's overwhelming in the best way possible. Suddenly he has a hand buried in her hair and the other hand pressed against her lower back, drawing her body tightly against his. There's an urgency that takes over, a sense of want and need that holds sway over them both. It thunders in her blood and surges in her veins and she thinks she could do this forever. She _wants_ to do this forever. Because everything in her screams that this is right, this is _right,_ and even if she doesn't remember the hows or the whys of it all, he is hers and she is his and that is absolute with or without their memories.

They _should_ be figuring out who they are, what happened to them, how to get their memories back. Somewhere in her mind, she knows this. But, for the life of her she can't care about those things right now. Not when her husband is kissing her like he's breathing life into her body and his hand has drifted down a bit lower to her ass. He's _very, very obviously_ as taken with this moment as she is, if the press of his erection to her belly is any indication - and, let's be fair here, it totally is.

His fingers flex against her ass as he pulls her even more firmly against him and she flat out _whimpers_ against his lips because it's perfect. He's _perfect_. She doesn't remember _anything_ , but she's fully committed to the idea that this is one of the best days of her whole goddamned life.

He's breathing heavily and his pupils are blown wide when he pulls back abruptly, but doesn't put any distance at all between them. She's damned near _panting_ , which would be sort of embarrassing if she weren't a mile past caring. Besides… it's not like he's in better shape than her.

"I didn't mean to get so… I'm sorry," he offers, watching her lips hungrily as he speaks.

"I'm not," she says immediately. "Sorry, that is. At all. That was…"

"Yeah," he agrees, his hand travelling back up to rest against the curve of her back.

"We're really good at that," she says unnecessarily. "I mean, like _really_ good at it."

"I'd bet we're good at a lot more than just kissing," he tells her, his fingers twitching against her back like he's actively fighting moving them somewhere less wholesome.

He's right. She's _sure_ he's right. And even just the suggestion of doing more than kissing him is enough to make her whole body vibrate with want. But she cannot sleep with someone when neither one of them have any memories. She _can't_. Even if she really, really wants to.

She rises up on her toes and kisses him again, soft and long and a little teasing. His hands go to her face this time and she feels him relax a little against her, his body slouching into hers like it wants to curl around her, hold her as close as possible. She can't say she really minds that idea.

This goes on for a while. They lose themselves in it, in each other. And she utterly revels in her quality life choices, even if she doesn't remember making them.

" _Mmm_ , I don't know-" she starts pulling back slightly.

Her words, however, are abruptly cut off by their door opening.

It is instinctive, though she doesn't know _why_ , for her husband to pull her protectively behind him as he faces the door, looking alert and on edge.

"Who are you?" he asks sharply, eyeing the three people in the doorway.

"That's a damned good question," the large, dark-skinned man at the head of the group replies. "We have no idea."


	11. Chapter 11

As it turns out, there's a surprising number of people on the ship. It seems like every room they explore has at least one more person added to their numbers. _How_ she knows that's too many for this vessel is sort of beyond her, but Felicity is positive that the suggested occupancy is ten-to-twelve people. Even given the obvious aftermarket changes to the ship - And, why are they obvious? How does she know this? - it's a hair past capacity with thirteen people and a baby. _A baby_.

The mish-mosh mix of crewmates wind up in the dining hall, a surprisingly high-end area that echoes of the ship's former life, a time before retrofits and specialized upgrades geared toward precision, speed and endurance. A time spent entertaining the absurdly rich and inexplicably bored.

At least _something_ has a clue to its past around here, she thinks ruefully.

There aren't enough chairs for everyone. Eight seats and thirteen adults. By unspoken agreement, people start navigating each other in an awkward dance over who sits where. It's the weirdest game of musical chairs she's ever seen.

Not that she remembers seeing any before, but that's hardly the point.

A willowy, wide-eyed girl hops up onto the counter with a strange amount of delight in her eyes, taking in the scene. Felicity can practically see the wheels turning in the girl's mind as she catalogues responses, tucks away information for later. It's chilling, given their situation.

Her husband, whose name she _really, really_ wishes she knew, steers her gently, but firmly toward the back of the room. She goes along with this instinctively, some base part of her in line with his way of thinking.

He leans back against the wall, but it would be a mistake to call it relaxing. She's directly in front of him, leaning back against him with his arms wrapped around her in such a way that it's completely unnoteworthy when he leans down slightly to whisper in her ear.

"More chairs than people," he says quietly, his breath ghosting over her ear and giving her chills as he points out what she'd already realized. "Not everyone belongs here."

He's right, she realizes immediately. They've all lost their memories - _supposedly_ \- and not everyone belongs on this ship. It's entirely possible that whatever stole their memories was an accident, but it seems considerably _more_ likely that it wasn't. And if it wasn't… whoever did this to them might well be in the room right now.

Her nervousness at this realization must show because his tone shifts to something calming, something gentle when he speaks again and it loosens the knot of anxiety that's bunched itself up her stomach.

"We have each other's backs," he points out, searching her eyes with his.

She nods almost imperceptibly at this as a sudden wash of gratefulness and affection for her husband washes over her. They have nothing else right now, but they have each other. That's more than anyone else in the room can say.

"How best can we proceed?" asks the shepherd, clearing his throat.

"If nobody ain't remembering nothin', I can't see how we're to be goin' about lookin' for answers," a young looking woman in overalls says dejectedly.

"Those two don't remember being married, but they still figured out they are," points out the big, hulking dark-skinned man with the largest arms she imagines that she's ever seen.

And, considering the size of her husband's biceps which are currently embracing her, that's saying something. Everyone in the room other than the baby turns towards them at the man's words and Felicity shifts awkwardly in her husband's arms at their collective gazes.

"We woke up in the same bed holding hands and with wedding rings," she offers up a little defensively.

"I think that's his point," says a serious-looking but lovely brunette whose stance screams military. "There are plenty of clues we can derive from context alone."

"Like I _contextually_ got me a kid? Cutest little princess that ever was, ain't she?" asks a man in the most ridiculous hat that Felicity's ever seen.

Not that she remembers seeing any before, but she's pretty sure this would win anyhow. The baby in his arms tugs on one of the tassels hanging off of it with wide eyes and a delighted grin.

"It would appear…" the dark-haired woman allows.

"An' I _contextually_ gotta be married to her. Or 'least she's my baby-mama," he continues, nodding toward the darker-skinned woman of the group.

"And why, pray tell, do you figure that to be the case?" she challenges, folding her arms in front of herself.

"Well… I mean… takin' a look around, ain't many more options," the man shrugs.

"You thinkin' there ain't more women of color in the 'verse than in this room?" she questions.

"It's not an unreasonable guess," the shepherd appeases. "The child is young. It's likely that her mother is close at hand."

"I ain't feelin' much the maternal type," the woman responds with raised eyebrows and shifting her hands to plant firmly on her hips.

"Don't listen to her, princess," the burly man in the goofy hat says in an overly soft tone, glaring in the woman's direction as he cuddles the baby closer.

"How'd'ya know you ain't just babysittin'?" asks the younger woman in greasy overalls with a quirk of her head.

"I look much like a babysitter to you?" he challenges. "'Sides. She likes me."

"Seein' as her memory's likely a blank slate too, ain't no clue to be had from that," a man in a long brown coat deduces. "Or from her in general."

"On the contrary," says a prim man in a too-crisp suit. "There's genetics, blood-type matching. There's much we can learn from her. Does no one have any pictures of the child? Or anything else? Did anyone's room have a crib or other baby supplies?"

"Just cause I ain't got a crib don't mean nothin'!" hat-man says angrily, standing abruptly and holding the baby to his chest tightly, bouncing her a bit in soothing fashion.

"This really our biggest concern at the moment?" asks the man in the brown coat.

"Surely the child ought be one of our primary concerns," the shepherd counters in astonishment.

"I rightly think if we figure out what's been done to us and how to fix it, that's a situation's gonna resolve itself," he replies.

"But how do we do that?" Felicity wonders aloud. "And how exactly are we running this ship until we do?"

There's a fair bit of quiet as the inhabitants of the room look to each other, each hoping the other has an answer to their current predicament. She, at least, has the comfort of her husband, whose arms are holding her reassuringly as he presses a kiss into her hair. She might not remember anything, but she knows she loves him. She knows it in her bones. The only other person with an attachment to someone is the man cuddling the baby like she's his whole world. She has a pang of sympathy for the rest of them.

"I woke up at the controls," says a blondish, kind-faced man breaking the silence. "Or, if you want to get technical, I woke up with my face mashed up against the controls - side note, we might no longer be on course to wherever we were headed - but I think I might be the pilot."

"Good! That's good," the man in the suit says. "Does anyone else know anything about themselves? Anything at all?"

"I should think my role on board is rather obvious," the shepherd smiles gently.

"An' given all the oil all over me, I'm thinkin' I'm the mechanic," chimes in the girl in the overalls. "Who's the captain though? Who's in charge?"

"There's no real way of knowing," says the dark-skinned man with arms the size of her head after a beat. "I think we can narrow the _owner_ down to one of two people though."

Eyes dart back and forth between the man in the suit and an exceedingly well-dressed woman seated at the table. Something about her rich, intricate dress screams class and money.

"Oh! Maybe it's both of 'em! Maybe they're married!" the girl in the overalls pipes up with excitement that's a little over the top but wholly genuine.

"Simon isn't married," laughs the dark-haired pale-skinned girl perched on the counter.

Felicity's husband's arms tense around her and she can _feel_ as he falls into a defensive mode, ready for impending danger. It's instinctive for him. She knows that. And it makes her feel safer on a very fundamental level.

" _What_ did you say?" challenges the man in the brown coat.

"Simon," the girl says with an unconcerned smile, nodding toward the man in the suit. "He's not married. Doesn't own the ship either. He doesn't much live his life for himself, his dreams died instead of me. It's a common problem on this ship."

"You _remember_ things?" the brunette with a military stance questions.

It's funny, Felicity realizes, looking around the room at how people react to this bit of information. The man with the arms, the man in the brown coat, the dark-skinned woman with skeptical eyes, the maybe-military brunette, and her husband all react with battle-ready awareness. Everyone else just looks some mixture of eager and surprised. It leaves her wondering what kind of ship exactly they're running.

"Why didn't you say nothin'?!" the girl in the overalls says.

"The shadows creep," the girl tells them sagely. "You breathe them in, hold them in your lungs and they can't get out. Can't get out. They're stuck."

"O-kay," the man in the brown coat says slowly. "Can't say as I much followed that."

"My brain's not normal," the girl tells them in a confessional tone.

"Thank you, yes we'd gathered that," Simon tells her. "Do you know our names?"

"Of course," she says as though it's obvious.

They all wait with bated breath for a moment until it becomes obvious that she's not about to continue.

"Would you please tell us our names?" Simon follows up with restrained patience.

She does. One-by-one. Mal, Zoe, Kaylee, Wash, Jayne, baby Sara, Shepherd Book, Inara, Oliver, Digg, Felicity, Lyla. And River. Felicity runs the names over in her head, but there's no ring of familiarity. Not for Oliver's, her _husband's_ , and not for her own.

"Thank you. Do you know who we are to each other?" Simon asks.

"Family," she tells him with a quirk of her head. "By blood, by choice and blended. You all bleed with purpose, with loyalty. It's brighter in the shadows. How strange."

Strange is absolutely the right word.

"And who's the captain?" Zoe asks, ignoring the girl's half-answers and riddle-speak as she prods for more information.

"More people than chairs," River tells her with thinned lips and a grim gaze. "We need more seats."

"What's got her all nonsensical, ya think?" Kaylee asks, eyes darting between the others in the room. "She like this before or did whatever made us lose our memories mess her up? Could we all end up like that, too?"

Well _there's_ a question Felicity hadn't considered. She must tense up at the girl's suggestion because Oliver's fingers are suddenly stroking against her forearm in soothing fashion, the slow, steady stroke of his fingers melting tension she hadn't realized she'd had.

"Can't rightly tell," Mal acknowledges, "but we ain't got no reason to think she's a new kinda crazy so it's probably for the best we deal with what is before we start worryin' 'bout what might happen next."

"A wise notion, Mal," says Inara, smiling at him with bright, approving eyes and a restrained but genuine smile.

"Ma'am," he replies, smiling back and dipping his head slightly. "I'm just figurin' it's best we keep cool heads. No use panickin'. Not so sure as that's wise as much as it is common sense, but I appreciate it all the same."

"Well, I appreciate the common sense, then," she clarifies with a nod of her head and the dim glow of affection shining in her gaze.

"Aw… you two with your heart-eyes are just the most precious thing I ever did see," Kaylee sighs with her hand clasped to her chest. " _Oh_ maybe you two are married!"

"What is it with you and wantin' people to be married?" Zoe asks her, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I just think it's sweet, is all," Kaylee says with a blush and a shrug. "Like Oliver and Felicity. They ain't got nothin' at all but each other right now. But look at 'em, all leaning in to each other like they been doin' it all their lives. It's romantic."

Everyone looks at them again, the anomaly in the room, the two people with a sense of connection. Maybe it should make them uneasy, but it doesn't. She's at home in Oliver's arms, the rightness of it lends her comfort. She delights in it.

"How's it you two are so… natural with each other, given that you don't remember any kind of relationship," Digg asks with curiosity shading his voice.

She looks up toward her husband as she feels him take in a breath. He's staring back at her, his eyes fixed on hers with this strange balance of understanding and affection they found so instantly. She knows he's searching for just the right words to explain and he smiles at her, a soft, dimpled curl of his lips that would probably have her melting even if she _didn't_ know they were married.

"I don't remember her or our relationship," Oliver says finally, talking to the room but still looking at Felicity with blatant affection. "But I remember how I feel about her. I know how much she means to me."

Felicity is biting her bottom lip and nodding back up at him with a restrained smile before she's even conscious of it. His words are simple, really - a far cry from some over-the-top declaration - but Felicity has the sneaking suspicion that being flashy and dramatic isn't their style anyhow. They know what they mean to each other, no one else's opinion really matters.

She's caught up enough in her husband's loving gaze that she misses the furtive glances between some of the others in the room. She and Oliver might have had the most obvious connection at the start of all of this, but theirs is far from the only one that lingers. Even absent their memories, imprints of their lives from before impress themselves on the ship's crew, blurry and out of focus, but _there_.

"Seein' as we don't know who's cap'n, but we got ourselves an inkling that Inara owns the ship, how's about she runs things on board for now?" suggests Kaylee, clearing her throat and blushing as her eyes dart back from Simon who is stoically avoiding her gaze.

"This seems as good a plan as any," Shepherd Book nods serenely.

"I'm inclined to agree," Mal chimes in. "Presumin' you're willing, of course, ma'am."

"I suppose so," she agrees. "If that's what everyone wants."

"We need one central person in charge," Oliver says as Lyla nods along from her spot at the table. "You can't run a ship by popular vote."

"Okay then," Inara says slowly, when it becomes clear that no one's really objecting to the notion. "I suppose the first thing we ought to do is have our presumed pilot return to the controls and make sure we haven't veered off course into somewhere dangerous. Wash, was it?"

"Yes," Wash agrees. "Though, can I just say, I don't feel like a Wash. I don't feel like my parents would have hated me enough to name me Wash."

"It's a nickname," River says staring at a cabinet hinge in fascination as she opens and shuts the door. "Your real name is Hogun."

"Wow, so apparently my parents _did_ hate me," he deadpans.

"Could be worse. You could be a man named Jayne," Mal points out with a shrug.

"Hey!" Jayne protests hotly.

"That one's not a nickname," River adds.

"Regardless," Inara says, clearing her throat and levelling Mal with a look stops him from saying anything further. "Wash, we need you at the controls. Okay?"

"Yeah. Got it," he agrees.

"And Kaylee, can you make sure nothing looks out of place in the engine room?" Inara asks.

"I ain't rightly sure what I'm lookin' for, but I s'pose I can take a gander at it," the auburn-haired girl nods firmly.

"That's all I ask," Inara responds.

"And the rest of us?" Shepherd Book asks. "What would you ask of us?"

"Explore for clues," Inara tells him. "Simon was right. If we live here, there's bits of our identities to be found all around us. Photos, letters, clothing, keepsakes. There's much to be discovered about our lives on this ship. And, if we're lucky, we might uncover what it is that's left us without our memories of our lives."

"So we all go back to where we first woke up and start from there? Retrace our steps? Look for anything that gives us insight into our identities?" Lyla asks.

"Look for diapers, too," Jayne says with a wince as he shifts the baby a little. "An' prob'ly formula. It ain't gonna be long before my little princess is gonna need somethin'."

"It's a good idea," Oliver agrees, his fingers tangling with Felicity's as he speaks. "It gives us a starting point, anyhow."

"I'm sure your approval of this plan has nothing to do with the fact that it means you head back to your room with your wife, right?" Digg asks, his voice ringing with amusement as he raises his eyebrow at Oliver.

To her surprise, Oliver grins back, an easy, impish smile that takes over his whole face and sends Felicity's heart fluttering at the sight. That look, it's implications, the easiness of this, of _them_ , it hits her full force. She wants to hold that grin inside her memory forever. She wonders how many just like it she's already forgotten.

"It's not that your company isn't delightful, Digg," Oliver says cheekily.

"Just remember looking for clues about yourselves means looking somewhere _other_ than your wife on occasion," Digg counsels.

"You know, I'm not sure, but I feel like I'm probably very, very good at multitasking," Oliver replies as Felicity huffs a laugh into his arm.

"All right," Inara says, smiling good naturedly as she shakes her head a little at them and reigns them in. "Let's get started. We'll all meet back here in an hour, all right?"

"Let's do it!" Wash agrees, standing swiftly before pausing and looking around in slight confusion.

"Which way were the ship's controls again?"


	12. Chapter 12

Oliver doesn't remember the way back to their room, but either his feet do or Felicity does because they wind up there without making any obvious wrong turns. His hand doesn't leave her body the entire way there. Her elbow, the small of her back, her fingers. He craves that connection with her, something right, something _real_.

He's not sure, but he thinks maybe she does, too.

She leans into him a bit, curves her body towards him as they walk, edges closer instead of further away. He's not even sure she knows she's doing it, but she does. She _does_ and it sends his heart soaring every time.

And how _is_ that? He can't remember a single thing. _Nothing_ other than that he loves this woman, that he's at home with her at his side.

They enter their room and she drifts away, analyzing the things on the top of their dresser and pulling open drawers. He, quite honestly, couldn't care less about those things right now. His fingers itch without her warmth against them. He's far more interested in discovering her than he is in anything he might find tucked away in a dresser drawer.

So, he sits on the edge of their bed and watches her instead.

She flits about the room with the scrutiny of a detective's eye, picking up knick-knacks of indeterminate origin and shuffling through papers. He tries to take note of every little thing she does, every quirk, every mumbled word that slips past her lips as she rambles to herself. It's an incredible thing, knowing that he gets to rediscover all of the reasons that he loves her.

"Of course there's nothing in this drawer," she huffs to herself, blowing a loose strand of blond hair away from her face with a little huff as she slides the bottom dresser drawer shut. "It's all just pants. And, I mean, who hides a photo album or a family tree or a diary in their pants drawer? That's not a thing people do. Well… maybe paranoid people. But we're not paranoid. At least I don't think we are? I don't feel paranoid. Do you feel paranoid? Would a paranoid person know if they felt paranoid?"

He can't help but laugh at that. She's so damned endearing and she doesn't even know it. He's quickly discovering that that's one of his favorite things about her, honestly. She looks back from where she's crouched in front of the dresser at the sound of his laughter.

"Oliver! You're not even looking!" she chastises, rising to her feet and putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, I'm looking," he counters, pinning her with a look that leaves no doubt as to exactly what he means.

Adorably, she turns a delightful pink hue at his words and bites her lower lip as she looks back at him.

"That is… not what I meant," she manages primly, brushing that loose strand of hair behind her ear as she speaks.

"I don't need a photo album to tell me who I am, Felicity," he tells her. "I have you. That's better."

"There's more to our lives than each other," she points out, drifting away from the dresser and towards him a few steps.

"I'm sure there is," he agrees, holding a hand out toward her. "But none of it could be anywhere near as important."

"Oliver," she manages in half-hearted protest, sighing out his name as she takes his hand and lets him pull her closer.

He rests his chin against her stomach as he stares up at her. It should be strange, this kind of closeness with someone he doesn't know. But it's not. It's just… right. She feels it, too. He knows she does.

Her hand drifts through his hair and his eyes flutter shut at the feel of her fingers dragging across his scalp. A sigh, fully contented, absolutely at peace, blows through his lips and he tilts his head forward both to give her better access and to allow himself to kiss her stomach.

"We should be trying to figure this out," she manages, sucking in a breath as he presses his lips to her cloth-covered mid-section. "Someone could have made us lose our memories. We could be in danger... somehow."

He's not sure which one of them she's trying to convince. Both of them, possibly. But he's pretty sure she's not having any more luck with herself than she is with him.

"I'm not scared" he points out, watching her as he presses another kiss to the space just below her sternum. "Are you?"

"N-No," she says in an uneven voice. "What does that…"

"I remember that I love you," he tells her, watching as her breathing speeds up and her gaze shifts to something decidedly wanting. "I _feel_ it. That's the _only_ thing I know."

"Me too, Oliver," she assures him a little breathlessly. "But that doesn't mean we aren't in danger."

"If we remember that, don't you think we'd have some sense of fear if we were in danger?" he asks. "Some anxiety? _Something_?"

His hands settle on her hips and slide down the outsides of her thighs as he speaks. A thrill of delight rolls through him when her eyes drift shut and she bites her lip as she concentrates on the feel of his hands skirting almost innocently down her body.

"Maybe. Probably," she allows, moaning a little on the words. " _Oliver_."

"I got the chance to kiss my wife for the first time _twice_ ," he points out as her eyes flutter open and her very-dilated pupils lock with his. "How many people can say that? How _lucky_ are we to have this chance to rediscover everything about each other?"

His hands tug against the backs of her knees, pulling her towards him, and her palms fall atop his shoulders as she suddenly finds herself straddling him.

"This is a bad idea," she berates lightly, her lips hovering just an inch or two away from his.

"This is the _best_ idea," he counters, leaning in as she leans back a tiny bit, just enough to keep them the exact same frustrating distance apart.

"I'm not really sure those two things are mutually exclusive," she tells him, a little smile gracing her lips and her gaze drifts down to his lips.

"Me either," he agrees as she finally takes mercy on him and closes the gap between them.

Her hands skirt up to cup his face as she leans into him and presses her soft, warm lips to his with a sigh that he can feel reverberate through his entire being.

Kissing her is like coming home. It's like finding himself. With her, memories or no, he's not lost. He wonders if it's always this way. He hopes it is. He thinks he could really get used to it.

Some tropical fruity scent of her shampoo or lotion or _something_ washes over his senses and he breathes it in, savors it even as he parts his lips against hers and touches his tongue to the spot where she'd been worrying her lower lip with her teeth earlier.

Any trace of reluctance on her part is clearly gone after that.

She slants her mouth more against his and touches the tip of her tongue to his in an almost teasing way as her hips shift, press down in a way that has him gripping her knees tighter and moaning into her mouth. He can _feel_ her smile in response and _fuck_ but if that doesn't make him love her all the more.

But it also _really_ makes him want to elicit that same kind of response from her. _Badly_.

He stops his lips from teasing, deepens the kiss with an undeniable intensity as his hands move methodically back up her thighs to slip under her shirt at her waist. He doesn't stop there, though, his hands keep moving, seeking heat and skin and her. They move right up until his thumbs scrape the underwire of her bra. His surprisingly calloused fingers stroke soft, steady circular patterns against her skin. She shivers under his touch and moans and her slim fingers shake against his jaw. He finds it hard to believe that he's ever been as proud of himself as he is right now.

"Oliver," she whimpers, lips brushing his as she breathes his name into his mouth. " _Oh_ , this is crazy."

She tilts her neck and he follows the line of it with his lips, savoring the way she shuddered in delight as his stubble scrapes against the soft skin of the slim column of her neck.

"It is," he agrees into her skin. "It's crazy. And perfect. And _God_ how do you do this to me?"

He _knows_ she's biting her lip again, even though he doesn't look up to see it. He's too entranced by the way he can make goosebumps break out across the spot where her neck meets her shoulder when he brushes his lips lightly against it _just so_. Her knees dig into his hips at that and she shifts again in his lap, her groin pressing against his in a way that makes him hiss and roll back up against her.

"Oh God, screw it," she announces.

And before he has a chance to contemplate what that might mean, she's wrestling with the buttons on her blouse and slipping it off her shoulders, giving him a fresh expanse of skin to explore and cherish.

And he does.

Immediately.

His hands move up, unhooking the fastening of her front-clasped bra with the barest flick of his fingers to rid the remaining fabric from her skin. It falls away from her body easy and his lips trail down, from the hollow of her throat down her breastbone, forging a path of kisses straight down her middle. He can feel her heart thundering under the press of his lips and the quick intake of air from her shallow breaths and he wants to goddamned _live_ in this moment. Forget whatever happened before. Forget what will happen in the future or anything happening outside of this room right now. He just needs this. He just wants this, her skin and hands and lips and the steady rush of his pulse as her fingers bury themselves in his hair. Nothing else matters. Nothing else could.

He turns his head to the side, kisses the curve of her breast and her fingers grip his hair almost painfully as she moans aloud and arches her back. He delights in finding this little stretch of skin that can pull that response from her, but it only leaves him wanting more, wanting so badly to find _every_ little over-sensitive spot that can make her quake and grip him tighter.

He's not sure he'll ever get over how beautiful she is when he coaxes these reactions from her.

Her blue eyes are wide and her lips wet and parted when his gaze locks with hers. Her fingernails, blunt little things painted lavender, scritch against his scalp as he kisses a short path from that sensitive little patch of skin to nuzzle against the side of her very peaked nipple.

She inhales sharply and her hand stills. There's an anticipatory feel to the air that he savors because when you don't remember _before_ it's easy to focus on the now, to live in the moment, and this is wholly a moment worth living in.

Slowly, he wraps his lips around her nipple, suckling gently and rubbing the flat of his tongue against the textured nub. His eyes never once leave hers and it's impossible to miss how effected she is by all of this. The choked noise that seems stuck in her throat, the dilating of her pupils, the unconscious rock of her hips against him.

" _Oliver_ ," she moans - and he's finding he really likes his name, at least when it's on her lips - as her hands leave his hair to tug somewhat frantically at his shirt.

To be completely honest, he'd sort of forgotten he was still wearing it. He's been so focused on her that he'd more or less let everything else slip away, but… _yes_ … he would very much like to feel her bare skin against his. That's probably just about the only thing in the 'verse that could get him to take his lips off of her body at the moment. But it does.

"Oh my _god_ you're _ridiculous_ ," she says with a delighted half-laugh as she gets his shirt off and her fingers trail down his chest to his abdomen. "In a good way. In a _great_ way. This has _got_ to be the best case of amnesia in history."

He's really not about to disagree with her there. And, anyhow, he's not really inclined to be terribly verbal at the moment.

He smiles as his hands frame her face and he leans in to kiss her instead, long and slow and telling her far more than words possibly could. She keeps one hand on his chest, fingers stroking his skin almost absently as her other hand curls around the back of his neck.

And he was right.

The feel of her skin moving against his is absolutely his new favorite thing in the entire 'verse.

There is, he thinks, a strong possibility that it was his _old_ favorite thing in the entire 'verse as well, but that hardly matters at the moment.

She sighs happily against his mouth as her hand trails southward to explore his abdomen and her breasts brush against his chest as her hips shift, seeking friction, seeking him.

Want to see her beneath him with her hair splayed out against the pillow overtakes him and he uses his considerable strength to hold her body to his as he turns them and lowers her to the bed with his forehead pressed intimately to hers.

There's depth to the look she's giving him, a heaviness that feels absolute and all-encompassing. She's said she knows she loves him. But even if she hadn't said it, he'd know it now. It's written all over her face and he just… he can't believe he's this lucky. That he has _this_. That they have each other.

She pulls her knees up to cradle his hips and he settles more easily between her thighs. Even through both of their jeans, he can feel the heat of her core pressed against him. That makes things more real somehow, brings everything into focus. He's already hard enough that he's straining against the seam of his pants, but the whimper she makes as he very deliberately grinds himself against her seemingly-impossibly hardens him even more.

"Oh… _oh_ that's… just like that," she gasps as he thrusts against her again, circling his hips firmly against her right at the end.

"Yeah?" he breathes back as he repeats the motion.

"God, yes, _Oliver_ ," she replies, moving in steady rhythm back against him.

Truth be told, every instinct he has is telling him to lose the pants and bury himself deeply inside her wet heat. But there's time for that. They've got a whole lot of firsts in front of them and he's more than happy to savor this one for exactly what it is.

Especially when she makes noises like _that_ and her lips form that perfect little 'o' shape every time he grinds against her.

He sort of wishes he could go back in time and thank his pre-amnesiac self for having the sense to marry this amazing woman, who can make him laugh as easily as she can set his senses on fire.

Later. Obviously. He wouldn't trade _now_ for anything.

His hands travel up the soft skin of her inner arms and he links fingers with her, pulling both of her hands above her head and using his elbows against the mattress for more leverage.

Either the increase in pressure or the restraint of her hands or both does _something_ to her because her movements take on a frantic edge and she's biting her lip like she's fighting to keep her moans in. He'd really _much_ prefer she didn't.

He _loves_ the sound of her breathless and wanting.

"Hey," he says against her mouth. "Talk to me, Felicity."

"Oh _god_ ," she sobs, letting go of her lip and gripping his hands tighter. "Oh god, just a little… This is… I just need…"

She's babbling beautifully but also so on edge that she can't finish a thought. And he's utterly dying to bring her past the brink.

His lips trail away from hers, kissing a line across her jaw to a spot just behind her ear that has her gasping and incoherently rambling something anew. He makes a mental note of that spot and gently scrapes his teeth against her skin, dragging a shudder out of her.

While her words might not be entirely coordinated, her body most certainly is. Her feet plant against the mattress and she pushes her hips _up_ in a slight way that completely changes the angle they're connecting at and leaves him seeing goddamned stars.

He groans into the side of her neck, huffing little puffs of hot air against her skin as her colorful fingernails dig into the skin of his hands. It takes everything in him to pull his head back, but he does. She's so goddamned close and there is absolutely no way he's going to miss the look on her face when she comes.

Her cheeks are flushed and her pupils so blown he can barely see the blue of her eyes. It's not hard to stay fixed on her. Not when she looks like that. He's so entranced. But, even if he hadn't been, there's no way he'd have missed the moment when her orgasm swells and overtakes her.

"Oh, _oh. Oh God_ , _Oliver_ ," she chokes out breathlessly, hips jerking and chest heaving as she presses down their joined hands and her whole body jerks off of the bed, pressing up against his.

If he ever gets his memory back and that's _not_ the most beautiful thing he's seen in his entire life, he's going to be incredibly surprised.

"God, you're just…" he mutters, pressing his forehead against hers and thrusting against her in a more focused way as he chases his own release.

It doesn't take long. Not with that image of her losing herself in him so fresh in his mind.

She angles her chin up and kisses him, softly, almost chastely as he comes, whimpering her name against her lips like a prayer for salvation.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, not because he wants to break eye contact, but because it's just too much. There are starbursts of feeling shooting through his skin and she's extracted her hands from his grip to stroke up his spine and he just… he just _feels_.

He lives fully in this instant.

And it's perfect.

"Mmm… hi," she greets with a deceptively innocent smile as he blinks his eyes back open a moment later.

"Hi," he counters with a dimpled grin, leaning down to kiss her again because he can't _not_.

She sighs a happy little sigh when they part a moment later and he brushes wild blond locks of hair away from the side of her face.

"I don't know what made us forget everything," he tells her, tracing the line of her cheek with his fingers. "But I'm completely shocked by the idea that anything in the 'verse has the power to make me forget an experience like that."

Her cheeks flush with a pleased glow and she bites her lips together to contain a smile and it strikes him all over again how much he loves this woman. He doesn't know all of the reasons why. Not yet. But he hasn't doubted it for a second and every little thing she does just seems to underscore his feelings.

"Yeah," she says, smiling happily as she wraps her arms around his neck. "I-"

But whatever she'd been about to say is cut off by the very unwelcomed sound of their door opening. Probably on instinct, he drops one shoulder to block her body from view and tilts his head so he can see the threshold to the hallway.

"Oh! Oh, I'm… I'm so sorry."

It's Inara, who looks at least as flustered as Felicity. She turns to the side instantly and physically covers her eyes with her hands as she blushes horribly.

"Next time maybe lock the door?" Felicity hisses at him in embarrassment.

He can't lie, though. His brain is caught up on the notion of 'next time.'

"I really didn't mean to intrude," Inara tells them, still covering her eyes. "We're all meeting back in the dining area and I'm just here to tell you to come- _to meet_ , I mean. Oh, I'm sorry. That wasn't… I'm just… going to… go."

"I think that's a good choice," Oliver manages. "We'll come-"

"Meet," Felicity corrects with a little squeak.

"We'll _meet_ you there shortly," he advises.

"Right. Good," Inara says flusteredly. "...I'm so sorry."

With that, she scurries away, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Oh god," Felicity sighs, curling her head toward Oliver's neck and burying her face in it.

"I'm pretty sure that's what you said earlier too," he grins.

"Oliver!" she chastises, shoving his shoulder as he laughs.

"Honey, it's fine," he chuckles, thoroughly amused at her reaction. "She didn't see anything."

"But she _knows_ ," Felicity points out.

"We're married," Oliver reminds her. "I'm pretty sure she knew a while ago."

"But there's knowing and then there's… you know… _knowing_ ," Felicity emphasizes dramatically.

"I know," he grins cheekily. "I like _knowing_."

"Oliver," she laughs in protest, turning pink and pressing her fingertips to her forehead in embarrassed disbelief.

It's beautiful. She's beautiful. And he just can't keep it in.

"You just… you take my breath away," he tells her and she stops laughing but her eyes don't stop smiling.

"Right back at you," she tells him, kissing him briefly again.

"Keep that up and we're not getting to the dining room anytime soon," he warns her, hovering less than an inch away from her lips after they part.

" _Probably_ not the best idea," she smiles delightedly. "But later…"

Her voice drifts off on the end and the promise of it resonates deeply within him. Because _yes_ … _later_.

"Later," he agrees, his voice husky and deep.

For now, though, they have other things that need their attention. Like a shower and a change of clothes, for starters. Later though… well, later he hopes he'll need one again. Preferably with her.

"Go," she says, as if she's reading his thoughts.

He does, but only because her promise of _later_ rings in his ears like hope on the horizon.


	13. Chapter 13

Somewhat predictably, Felicity and Oliver are the last ones to pile into the dining room. Oliver is… easily sidetracked, she's found. Not a thing she's complaining about even a little, considering the bulk of his distraction involved her lips, but it does mean they've left the others waiting for a suspiciously long time.

Everyone's already taken up residence in the same spots as before except for Wash who has, presumably, been left to pilot the ship for the time being. Truth be told, Felicity hardly notices the man's absence from the group. She's a little more focused on the looks on everyone's faces which quite clearly express that every person in the room is very aware of exactly _why_ Oliver and Felicity are the last two to meander in.

Well… everybody except baby Sara. At least the infant doesn't have a clue that they were exploring each other instead of their room?

"I'd ask if you found anything important but I got me a strong suspicion that ain't the case," Mal says dryly.

"Nothing that needs sharing," Oliver says with a dimpled grin and a raised eyebrow, leaning against the same spot on the wall as before and tugging a blushing Felicity back with him into his arms.

And _oh_ is she red-faced. She can feel her cheeks burning and she can't quite resist the urge to turn her face into his chest to hide her own embarrassment. And because it's delightful, really. She can admit that to herself. He smells _fantastic_ and he's warm and she kind of just wants to melt into him when he starts stroking up and down her back protectively.

"I am gonna laugh my ass off if we get our memories back and you two are halfway through a divorce," Digg snorts at them as he shakes his head.

Oliver tenses at that, his hands holding her a little closer, like he's afraid she might just slip through his fingers. She's not going anywhere, though. Not now and not later. She's so invested in this that it should be a little frightening, really. But it's literally all she knows and that's a source of strength more than it is a vulnerability.

"Let's stay on task," Inara directs, effectively diffusing the mounting tension between the two men.

Oliver doesn't relax, though. Not like before. Digg's words hit a chord with him for sure and he's notably more on edge. So, maybe it looks like she's playing the part of the incredibly affectionate wife when she rests her fingers against his chest and strokes her thumb against him - and maybe partly she is - but it's more than that, too. It's comfort and reassurance and solidarity.

 _I'm here_ , she tells him with her fingertips. _I'm right here_.

His gaze shifts down to her, edges of worry in his eyes fading away as she smiles back up at him, open and easy. The strength and effortlessness of their bond is remarkable, really. And no matter what happened before, even if Digg _were_ right, she can't help but think that this experience can only serve to cement their relationship further.

"Well some of our searches were more fruitful, thankfully," Book says, smiling brightly from his spot at the table, holding something that looks like a greeting card.

"What did you find, shepherd?" Inara asks.

"A birthday card," he says proudly. "It was in my quarters, signed by many of the people here, and it says 'Happy Birthday, Grandpa.'"

"Aw! Congratulations!" Kaylee beams delightedly. "You're baby Sara's grandfather, preacher. Ain't that just the greatest?"

"Still think you ain't a momma?" Mal asks Zoe with curiosity.

"I think I ain't feel nothin' approaching affection for the man holdin' the baby. So I'm goin' with no," Zoe replies in a clipped voice.

"Come again?" Jayne asks Kaylee, bypassing Mal and Zoe entirely and looking none too pleased at the notion of the shepherd as his child's grandfather.

Felicity hasn't really looked at the man since they walked in the room. His knowing look when they'd entered had been more of a leer than anything else and it had made her a little uneasy. But she looks at him now and the lewd, surly beast of a man is… well he's wearing a pillow case. At least that's what it looks like with a rectangle of fabric somehow attached to his chest and little Sara's head is peeking out of the top.

"Are you… are you wearing a pillowcase?" Felicity asks, a little flabbergasted and sort of stuck on that point.

"I made me a front carrier," he says defensively, looking down at the baby and stroking the back of her head.

And… _yeah_ … now that his arm has moved she can see an intricate series of belts strapped around him holding the baby-filled pillowcase in place.

"That's…" Felicity starts, but has absolutely no way she can finish.

"My arms got tired!" Jayne says, sounding a little like he's under attack. "And I ain't gonna put her down. She's movin' all over the place you know. I don't know what I was thinkin' having her on this ship. It's a bad place for a baby. Ain't safe at all. Too many sharp an' pointy things. An' I think I like me some sharp and pointy things, but not around my baby girl."

The strange thing is that he has a point, Felicity realizes as she looks around the room. Even here, in a relatively domestic part of the ship, nothing is baby proofed.

"Perhaps we can take turns minding her then… for the time being," the shepherd suggests as Jayne bounces the baby and eyes him warily. "I have a vested interest in my granddaughter's safety as well and you have to sleep sometime, son."

Jayne gives a grunt after a moment that _probably_ means yes, but she doesn't have a whole lot of time to think about it because Wash bursts into the room in a frazzled state that immediately pulls everyone's attention to him.

"So, here's a thing that might or might not be a very large problem - I don't know where we're going and there's a ship heading toward us that's not answering any of the waves I'm sending it," Wash announces.

"Are their communications out, maybe?" Inara asks with gravity to her tone.

"It's possible," Wash acknowledges. "They're just sort of… drifting our way. It's creepy. It gives me a serious case of wanting to run the other direction."

"Maybe we should," Lyla pipes up.

"Or maybe they could help us," Kaylee suggests with a shrug.

"Or perhaps they are in need of _our_ help," the shepherd points out.

"Or maybe they're the ones who did this to us in the first place," Digg asserts.

They all have points. Quite frankly, Felicity's not sure what exactly she thinks they ought to do. Part of her really wants to help these people if they need it but another part… well, she's definitely wary as well.

"S'your call, Inara," Mal tells the woman with a grim kind of look. "We ain't decidin' things by committee. Best as we can tell, it's your ship. So it's your call. We'll back you, whatever way you wanna go with this."

There's a long moment where the two stare at each other. Inara searches Mal's eyes for… something. Insight, maybe? The right choice, probably. He doesn't have either, but he does have support and he offers it up freely. And that - Felicity knows from recent personal experience - is invaluable right now. That's everything. And it makes her wonder what exactly each of them is thinking as their eyes linger on each other.

Then, though… then River starts screaming.

It doesn't sound human. It's a violent, unrestrained wail that sends shudders through Felicity like nails on a chalkboard and makes her jump before she covers her ears.

The pale, hollowed-looking girl hurdles herself backwards into a corner, throws herself onto the floor heedless of the bumps and bruises she'll undoubtedly earn for her carelessness. She balls herself into the smallest target possible and pulls at her own hair with bony fingers as she screams, eyes darting around the room sightlessly.

"River! _River_!" Inara says, moving toward the terrified girl.

It's Simon's hand that holds her back, his fingers gripping to the finely-dressed woman's sleeve as she tries to pass him. He doesn't look at her though, just River.

"I _know_ this," he says with indisputable surprise in his voice.

"Say what now?" Mal asks skeptically.

"Her. Like this," Simon clarifies, eyes darting back toward Mal and then Inara. "I just… it isn't clear. But this feels familiar. Like I know her. Like perhaps I've seen her go into this state before."

Simon looks back towards Felicity and Oliver for a second, before standing and easing himself toward River who is whimpering and rocking with her back against the cabinets.

"River?" he asks gently, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Death," she moans out, long and pained. "Death walks. It wears our skin and eats our souls."

"Well ain't that cheery," Mal says dryly.

"Wash, change our course," Inara instructs, her tone sharp and decisive.

Wash nods firmly and turns to leave but pauses for a second when River starts speaking again.

"Doesn't matter where we go," River notes, looking to Simon with eyes that seem older than the girl herself. "Death catches everyone in the end. He swallows whole planets and his hunger never fades."

"...Wash," Inara says again, looking to the pilot.

"Run away from the scary death ship. Got it," Wash replies, scurrying from the room.

He nearly trips over the threshold though as the ship jolts. Oliver's arms tighten instinctively around Felicity, but even his arms don't leave her feeling safe at the moment. Not when she looks up and sees the nervousness she's feeling etched into his features as well.

"Too late," River whispers before laughing as she rocks in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees. "It was always too late."

The ship jolts again and Felicity knows, _knows_ that there's magnetic grappling hook affixed to their hull. _How_ she knows this is a complete mystery, but she knows it as surely as Simon knows River's psychic fits and Oliver knows he loves her. It's a certainty that terrifies her.

"We're going to be boarded," she says.

"We need to arm ourselves. Immediately," Lyla says with a sharpness that yet again makes Felicity think the woman has to be military.

"With what? We got… kitchen knives?" Kaylee asks, looking more than a little terrified.

"There are weapons lockers in the cargo bay," Digg tells them. "I found them when I was looking for clues earlier."

"I already got me a gun in my room," Jayne says. "I figure that means I can shoot it pretty good."

"While holding the child?" Book asks, eyes fixed on the little girl.

"I ain't puttin' her down, so yes," Jayne replies determinedly. "I'm gonna go get me my gun. I suggest you all go an' do the same."

"Go," Inara orders.

They do. They scramble as the ship jolts again, Wash running off to the pilot's controls, Jayne to his room and Kaylee to the engines while the others all hurry toward the cargo bay. Digg's right, there are more than enough guns for everyone in the weapons locker. She loses track of how many Oliver takes and stuffs in his waistband.

But it's not just guns and knives.

In the middle of the weapons rack is a bow and a quiver of arrows.

A strange look passes over Oliver's face as he reaches for the bow, tests the weight of it in his grip. He holds it like it's an extension of his arm. Like it belongs there. But his face is drawn as he studies it and something like a sense of foreboding shivers down Felicity's body.

"You okay?" she asks him, pulling him from his reverie.

"Yeah, I just… I think this is mine," he tells her, looking from the bow back to her as the hiss of a seal against the cargo bay doors tells her that the other ship has firmly latched onto them.

Oliver doesn't just think the bow is his, she realizes. He knows it. He knows it just like she knew about the magnetic grapple and the pressure seal.

"Just as long as you remember how to use it," she tells him, reaching for an absurdly large gun that she's pretty sure she has no clue how to shoot.

"I want you to go back to our room," he tells her with grim intensity as the metal bay doors groan against some force trying to push them open. "Lock the door and don't open it for anyone but me. Shoot that thing at anyone you don't know. Do you understand?"

"I'm not leaving you, Oliver," she tells him in surprise. "You want to protect me? Great. But I want to protect you too, you know."

"Felicity…" he starts, a frustrated puff of air escaping through his lips.

"You don't have a monopoly on wanting to protect the people you care about, Oliver," she points out. "Besides… maybe I'm a really good shot. You don't know."

"Neither do you," he points out.

"I guess we're about find out, then," she tells him firmly.

Her statement might have had more weight if she'd been able to figure out how to properly hold the gun, but her conviction will have to do because the gun is as big as her forearm and it's heavy and she can't even hold it steady.

"Here," he says, handing her two pistols and taking the enormous gun from her. "Cock it here, safety's here, you have eight shots in each gun so make them count."

And… yeah, she'd known none of that. So, probably he's better with the guns than her.

"Got it," she says with a nod.

"Use the crates as cover," he instructs. "And stay behind me. I won't lose you."

"You'll never lose me," she promises, rising up on her toes to kiss him. "I'll watch your back."

The desperation he kisses her back with would be all encompassing if it weren't for the heightened sense of fear living in her veins at the scratching noises against their hull. Still… it leaves her a little dazed as they part and she makes her way back toward a particularly tall tower of crates. She's out of sight, but she can see Oliver clearly from where he's moved a large crate to use as cover for himself.

Most everyone has done the same, really. Zoe's behind the door to the weapons locker with a shotgun. Digg and Lyla are both wielding pistols, crouching shoulder-to-shoulder behind some cargo. Mal and Inara are near the comm panel; him with a pair of pistols and her with a gun tucked in her dress but a knife in her hand. Simon's opposite her clutching a gun but looking fully unprepared for any kind of conflict, the shepherd next to him looking far more ready for battle.

And then there's River. No gun. No knife. Standing in the middle of the room seemingly without a care in the world.

"River, get back! Take a weapon!" Inara shouts at the girl as the doors' groans turn into a distinctive screech of metal against metal.

"Don't need to," she replies with a haunting gaze and careful barefoot steps across the floor until she stands directly between the cargo bay doors. "I am one."

The doors break open, giving way to the inevitable, and in pour the most terrifying people Felicity can imagine. If they even _are_ people. They're so mutilated, so grotesque, she can't even be sure. Just the sight of them evokes a primal sense of flight in Felicity. But she fights it. She has to.

River, however… River would be almost as terrifying if she wasn't on their side.

There's something almost beautiful about the way the girl fights. She's lethal. There's no doubt about that. Violence emanates from her very being. But it also looks like the most deadly dance in history. She spins and kicks, grabs a pipe and twirls with precision that nearly takes off the head of one of their attackers.

It's as hypnotizing as it is frightening.

But even River isn't enough to keep _all_ of them at bay. That's okay, though. She's not the only one who can fight.

Unsurprisingly, Felicity finds she is _not_ a great shot. But Digg and Lyla are. Zoe and Mal, too. So is the shepherd, strangely enough. But Oliver might be better than any of them. His shots are flawless. His arrows find their marks every single time.

But eventually arrows run out.

So do bullets.

There are far more attackers than there are projectiles. It terrifies Felicity. The zombie-like beings are snapping their teeth as they spar with River, some of them moving beyond her to go after Digg and Lyla or past the duo toward the rest of them. Oliver doesn't hesitate, though. Not for a second.

He vaults over the crate he was using as cover and throws himself into the fray. If Felicity had been terrified before, it's nothing compared to how she feels now, watching him charge the savage attackers. She doesn't know who they are. She doesn't know _what_ they are. But she knows mortal danger on an instinctive level.

As it turns out, maybe she doesn't need to be as concerned as she is. Oliver is as good in hand-to-hand combat as he is with a bow or a gun. He's a few paces behind River, fighting those that get past her. While River looks like she's doing the 'verse's deadliest ballet, Oliver just looks like a killing machine. He's brutal and _fast_ and precise. There is no mercy, no second guessing as he snaps necks and breaks spines and puts their attackers down with a blinding speed that has most of the rest of the room looking at him as warily as they've been watching River.

Not Felicity, though. She has no fear of him at all. She knows him better than that. She might not _remember_ him exactly, but she _knows_ him.

The surge of attackers slows finally after a few minutes until it's just a pair of them climbing over the bodies of their fallen comrades. River takes down one easily. The other passes her, skirts past Oliver to venture in Felicity's direction. It's close enough that she can smell the thing's breath, full of rot and gore, before Oliver pulls it back. It's still clawing in Felicity's direction mindlessly, snapping teeth, it's inhuman stare boring into her with nothing but hunger in its gaze as Oliver slams a used arrow through its midsection and then snaps its neck for good measure.

Felicity shrieks a little, stumbles backwards as the thing falls, the scant bit of light in its eyes fading away.

The silence that follows is deafening. The attackers are down. Dead, if they were ever alive in the first place, and everyone's eyes are darting between River and Oliver like maybe the threat hasn't entirely passed. Like maybe they don't realize these two people just saved their _lives._ And Oliver…

Oliver just stares at his hands like he's never seen them before.

There's blood under his nails, trailing down his fingers to his wrists, sprayed against his once-white shirt. Felicity realizes - suddenly, absolutely - that there is no one in the room more scared of Oliver than Oliver.

Letting that stand isn't an option.

She pays no attention to the corpse at her feet, instead stepping over the body and wrapping her arms around her husband. She buries her face in his chest and holds onto him tightly, heedless of the blood that's undoubtedly staining her clothes now too. She doesn't care about that. She cares about him. And he needs to know it.

"Felicity?" he asks, sounding like a lost child. "What did I-"

"You saved us. You saved me. It's okay," Felicity interrupts, holding onto him like she's afraid he'll push her away. "We're okay."

"Who am I?" he asks her, looking down at her with a vulnerability that would have seemed unthinkable just moments before. "Who knows how to do this?"

"My husband does," she tells him with conviction as she puts a hand against his cheek. "The man I love does. And if he didn't, I'd be dead right now. So, I'm glad for it."

He looks like he doesn't know how to respond to that, but he doesn't push her away which she counts as a victory.

"It's okay, Oliver," she says again, softer this time and only for his ears. "I've got your back now, too."

The look he gives her is pained in a way that feels hauntingly familiar. The rest of the room stays tellingly silent and Felicity resists the urge to yell at all of them that Oliver just saved them, too.

"What'd I miss?" Jayne asks, puffing as he barrels into the room, Sara still strapped to his front in the makeshift baby carrier and holding the largest gun Felicity's ever seen in his hands.

"A lot," Inara says.

It might be the understatement of the year.


	14. Chapter 14

Oliver's only half hearing what's going on in the room. Everything sounds oddly far away other than his heartbeat and his own shallow, too-fast breathing. His vision swims but he can't tear his gaze away from the literal pile of bodies he helped create. It's a mess of limbs strewn at unnatural angles and vacant eyes.

The gore is… it's monstrous. What he did is monstrous. Maybe _he_ is monstrous.

"Hey," Felicity says, sensing somehow where his mind has gone.

Her soft fingers cup his face, gentle steady pressure urging him to turn his head until he's focused on her. The small smile she offers him is completely nonjudgemental, open and supportive in a way he can't begin to believe he deserves. This doesn't make _sense_. He can't make the pieces of himself fit. How can someone like her love him when he's capable of _this_? How does that even work?

"Stop focusing on what you killed and start focusing on what you saved," she tells him, searching his eyes for some sign she's gotten through to him.

He nods, not really feeling it but holding on to her belief in him like it's the last thread holding him together. It's not that far-fetched. She might be.

"Ain't fair I missed it all!" Jayne whines with a pout that's more befitting the fidgety infant he's holding. "I got me the biggest gun here!"

"Well… size ain't everything. Or so they say," Mal grins tauntingly at the man as Inara shoots him a disbelieving look.

"That some kinda challenge?" Jayne asks.

"Please no," Zoe says dryly. "I ain't got the faintest idea where to find a ruler."

"You're here just in time to help with the clean up," Inara says, verbally stepping over the mess that the others have laid out.

The sound of retching draws Oliver's attention to a wan-faced Simon off in the corner, losing what's left of his lunch behind a crate.

"Sorry," the finely-dressed man apologizes, holding up a hand. "It's just… the blood is… a bit much for me."

River laughs, the first noise she's made since the… well the first word that comes to Oliver's mind is massacre, but he feels like Felicity would object to that so he mentally corrects himself to call it an attack instead. Regardless, everyone turns to look at her, offering up the same guarded gazes they'd directed at Oliver moments before. He must project his unease enough for Felicity to pick up on it because one of her hands moves to drift soothingly through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He wonders if some part of her remembers the effect that has on him or if it's just some way they naturally connect. It's distracting and relaxing and makes him want to close his eyes and let the 'verse narrow down to just her. He can't though. Not here. And certainly not now.

"The things you lose are funny," River tells them, by way of explanation.

In great contrast to Oliver, she's thoroughly unconcerned about the wary looks cast her way. She doesn't even seem bothered by her bare feet practically being swallowed by blood. She walks through it like she belongs in it, like she's born from it. Oliver's nowhere near that level of at home in this mess.

"Yes, cleaning up," Inara says, turning back toward Jayne. "We need these… assailants off of our ship. Drag them back to theirs, swab the deck and we'll detach and get away from that vessel. Don't let your guard down, just in case there are more. Simon? How about you go let Wash and Kaylee know the plan, okay?"

He nods and stumbles out of the cargo hold, more than ready to get away from the bodies but shooting a distrustful look at Oliver as he goes. Oliver can't even blame him for it.

"I can't be draggin' no bodies about while I'm holdin' my baby!" Jayne protests hotly, bouncing the girl who has started to wail in earnest.

"She's not your baby," Lyla announces, startling everyone and drawing the room's attention.

"The hell she ain't!" Jayne growls protectively.

"She's hungry," Lyla points out.

" _So_?" Jayne challenges.

"So I didn't see any formula on this ship, did you?" Lyla asks pointedly.

"There's gotta be somethin' 'round here for her to eat," Jayne mumbles, looking down at the child with concern.

"There is," Lyla says, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "She nurses."

"...Pardon?" Jayne asks, blinking at Lyla before staring openly at her chest.

"She _nurses_ ," Lyla says again through gritted teeth. "And _believe me_ , I am well aware that she's hungry right now."

"You mean you want to let her suck on your-"

"Hey now!" Mal interrupts Jayne with a loud, authoritative tone that actually startles the baby into stopping crying for a moment. "How's about you think on the words comin' out of your mouth before you say 'em?"

"I mean I'm going to feed _my_ child," Lyla says through a tight smile. "Something my body is _very_ prepared to do at the moment with all of that crying. Believe me. She's mine."

"But… if she's _your_ baby…" Jayne says looking down at the little girl he's so quickly gotten attached to with a face that makes Oliver think sharply of a kicked puppy.

"I'm sorry, Jayne," Inara says softly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "If she's Lyla's daughter, as it appears, then there's very little chance she's yours."

"She's mine," Digg realizes, looking from Sara to Lyla.

"That seems… likely," Lyla allows, looking back at Digg, her eyes surveying him quickly with a flicker of barely visible interest.

"Why aren't we… uh…" Digg starts, looking over toward Oliver and Felicity. "Why aren't we like them? Don't get me wrong, there's something about you that makes me want to get to know you better and it's not just that you're a damned fine shot. And you're definitely an attractive woman. But we're not… showing up late to meetings."

"Hey!" Felicity squeaks.

"I don't know," Lyla tells him. "Maybe we're not together anymore. Maybe it's complicated. Maybe we were in an argument when all of this happened. There's no way of knowing. But you're right. Whatever's between you and me… it's not nothing."

There's a long moment of the two of them just looking at each other that leaves Oliver feeling a bit like a voyeur, which is awful because he frankly doesn't even want to be in the room at all at this point. He wants to be as far away from those bodies and what he did as he can be. The _only_ reason he hasn't bolted is Felicity's grounding touch.

A whimpering noise breaks the quiet as Sara starts to fuss again, her little fingers clutching one of the belts Jayne used to secure her to his chest and her nose rooting around at his chest like she might find something to latch onto. For his part, Jayne looks like he's warring with himself. The beefy lunk of a man is still curled around the infant somewhat protectively, his face hard and grim as he covertly presses a kiss against the top of the child's head and blinks hard.

"I ain't got no time for a baby anyhow," he decides loudly, not looking at Sara at all as he starts unlatching the belts and pulling her away from his chest.

He's surprisingly gentle as he hands her to Lyla, though. And it's probably for the best that he's not looking at Sara, considering the way she's reaching back for him as he passes her off.

"Thank you," Lyla says, using the pillowcase to cover herself as she puts the child to her breast and the fussing stops immediately.

"Ain't nothin'," Jayne huffs. "Doin' myself a favor gettin' rid of her. Dunno how I'd shoot a gun with her attached to me anyhow."

"I meant for looking after her," Lyla says. "But okay."

Lyla's sharp enough to know that Jayne isn't the type to talk feelings, especially the sort that hurt, and she's not about to push him. She's got no reason to.

"Jayne, Mal, Digg I want you three on body detail," Inara tells them.

Digg nods, touching the top of his daughter's head with something like awe before backing up. Mal winces but doesn't protest. Jayne gives a grim look of agreement and if he sniffles a little as he does it no one says anything.

"What about me?" Oliver asks, realizing right away that she's called out all of the larger men to help expect for him.

"You've done your part," Inara says simply.

"Hey, this is good," Felicity tells him as he tenses up. "After something like that you need to clean up and take a breather."

"I'm already covered in blood, Felicity," he says with a hollow laugh. "I'm not going to get my hands any dirtier than they already are… And I've gotten blood all over you now, too."

It's true, he realizes, stepping back and surveying her. She'd been clean before touching him. Not now. Now there's blood on her shirt, her cheek, her hands. The sight of it makes him feel sick.

"No you don't," she says, her voice sharp and surprisingly angry as she steps forward into his space again. "You don't get to take the blame for that and… and metaphor it somehow. _I_ was the one that hugged you. That was _my_ choice. You don't get to take that away from me. I am not some... some girl you unwittingly corrupted with your evil ways, Oliver. I'm your _wife_ and I choose to support you because _I_ want to. If you want to blame yourself for my choices, we're going to have real a problem, mister."

He doesn't know what to do with that. Honestly, he doesn't. She's vibrant and fiery and passionate and he wants _so, so badly_ to believe her the way she clearly believes herself.

So, he resolves to try.

For her.

And for himself.

Because they deserve that, at the very least. They're worth his effort, no matter how successful he ultimately is.

"Okay," he tells her, to her obvious surprise.

She pulls back slightly, her face screwed in adorable confusion that actually makes him want to laugh for a moment right up until he realizes they are actually surrounded by the bodies of people he's very recently killed.

"Okay?" she asks like she's expecting him to qualify that somehow.

"Okay," he agrees. "Felicity, at some point we promised to support each other through everything. For better or worse. Now maybe we didn't see _this_ coming, but I have to believe that we both knew what we were getting into. So… you're right. If our situations were reversed and you'd… done what I did, I'd have been there for you, too. And I'd have been upset if you tried to blame yourself for it."

"Huh…" she says, blinking in confusion.

"What?" he asks.

"For some reason, I just really didn't expect you to be so reasonable," she elaborates.

He smiles at her, but he's pretty sure it doesn't reach his eyes. He might be willing to accept that he isn't exactly to blame for the blood on her, but he's still accountable for his actions and he's still more than a little terrified and self-loathing at what his instincts allowed him to do.

"Go clean up," Inara orders the two of them. "Zoe and I will take care of River. Lyla has the baby to worry about. And shepherd…."

"My work is here," Book tells them solemnly. "I don't know what happened to these people, but they clearly weren't in their right minds. They deserve a final send-off."

"If only you could remember a hymn or two, right preacher?" Mal asks sarcastically.

"Not a believer?" the shepherd challenges.

"Wouldn't know if I was," Mal shrugs. "But I can't say as I'm feelin' much inclined toward the divine."

"Luckily for these folks, this isn't about you then," Book counters. "There's no harm in wishing for peace for others, no matter who they are or what the means."

"I agree," Inara tells him, silencing whatever Mal had been about to say. "I'll leave you to it, preacher."

"Come on," Felicity says to him gently, trying to steer him away from the bodies and out of the room as the others get to work.

There's no way of avoiding stepping over some of them, though. And Oliver has to watch the floor to avoid tripping. It's gruesome and horrible and that's only underscored by the preacher's attempts at something approximating last rites. Felicity holds Oliver's hand through all of it, though. Her grip is unwavering and her thumb strokes against the skin of his forefinger in comforting little motions that only serve to emphasize how incredible she really is.

The walk back to their room is silent, something that seems ill-fitting for her, and the longer the silence stretches out the more torn Oliver finds he is. She deserves better than this. He's sure of it. She deserves better than _him_. Better than someone whose instincts lead him to slaughter a room full of men with his bare hands.

And yet…

And yet he'd married her. He'd married her and they love each other and she deserves that, too.

"You're thinking too loudly," she tells him, opening the door to their room and leading them past the threshold.

"Sorry," he says, the door clicking shut behind them.

"It would be fine if you were thinking 'Wow, I did a great job protecting my wife and our friends. Go me!'" she tells him. "I'm less okay with this 'Woe is me and my awfulness' routine you've got going on."

His only response is a pained sigh as he rubs at his temple.

"Oliver…" she starts again, but the gentleness in her voice is too much for him at the moment and he steps away from her.

"You want to take the shower first?" he asks, completely side-stepping her attempts to get through to him.

He can't miss the hurt look on her face, though. It slices through him like a knife. It _hurts_ , knowing he hurt her with his abrupt dismissal. He wishes they could go back to before the other ship had shown up, back to when their biggest concern was discovering what had happened _before_. Back to showing up late to a room full of knowing eyes. But they can't. And even if Felicity's outlook seems much the same, his isn't.

"Yeah, sure," she says quietly. "I'll be fast. But why don't you wash your hands first?"

He looks down at his fingers. He'd actually forgotten they were utterly caked in now-drying blood. He presses his fingertips together and they stick, tacky and stained in a way he's not sure they'll ever come clean from.

It must be a few moments that he stares at his fingers because when he looks back up at Felicity the expression on her face guts him all over again. Seeing him blame himself, seeing him think poorly of himself, it _hurts_ her. And all he can do is stand there and wonder how this all happened.

She, however, seems to be thinking a few steps beyond him.

"Yeah, no. Change in plans. You're coming with me," she announces suddenly, dragging him toward the bathroom.

"Felicity, what-" he starts before she cuts him off with a shushing noise as she hops up onto the bathroom counter.

"Come here," she tells him, turning on the water and wetting a washcloth as she pulls him to stand between her legs.

"Felicity…" he says again with hesitancy even as he allows her to draw him in.

As if there were a choice. As if he would _ever_ be able to push her away while she pulls him in. He can't even imagine that.

She doesn't respond with words. Not right away, anyhow. Instead, she takes the wetted washcloth and brings it to his face, wiping away the worst of the gore with her caring touch.

The water is hot against his skin and the washcloth is rough but there's so much affection in the gentle touch of her hand to his face that he has to shut his eyes against the emotion that swells up within him.

It feels like absolution.

"When I said I had your back, I meant it," she tells him in scarcely more than a whisper as she drags the cloth against his skin.

It's too much. Her unconditional love toward him absolutely floors him. He feels so very unworthy of it.

He grabs her hands with his, still covered in tacky blood, and presses his forehead against hers. His eyes shut and he just breathes her in.

"I don't know who I am," he confesses, unable to look at her but drawing strength from her steady closeness.

"You're the same person you were this morning, the same person you were yesterday," she tells him.

"I don't know who that _is_ ," he emphasizes, opening his eyes and pulling back an inch or two to look at her.

"We'll figure that out together," she promises him, stretching up to kiss his forehead soothingly.

"What if I hurt you?" he asks hoarsely, voicing what he realizes is his very worst fear.

"You won't," she tells him with certainty.

"How can you be so sure?" he asks, watching her with amazement. "After what I just did…"

"Your instinct was to _protect_ me," she points out, stroking her fingers against his temple with the hand he's let go. "You didn't _enjoy_ any of that, Oliver. You aren't sadistic. You did what you had to do to save our lives. You won't hurt me. You'll never hurt me."

"You deserve better than this," he tells her.

Better than _me_ , he means.

"We all deserve better than this," she points out. "You included."

"That's not what I meant," he tells her, guilt living in his eyes as he looks to her.

"Love isn't about deserving someone, Oliver," she tells him before pressing her lips gently to his for a brief whisper of a kiss. "You're stuck with me."

He can't stop the sigh of relief at her words and something in him cracks under the surge of gratefulness that washes through him. Heedless of the mess, he buries his hands in her hair and touches his nose to hers in a nuzzle as she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"I love you so much," he breathes against her, feeling every word so deeply as he speaks it. "I want to be the man you deserve."

"Oliver," she sighs, her lips brushing his as she speaks. "I know you don't believe it, but you already are."

She's right. He doesn't believe it. But he knows she does. And maybe that's enough.

For now.

It certainly feels like enough when her lips press against his, soft but firm. It's a long, lazy, fortifying kiss that he feels through every inch of his being. Her hands stroke down the sides of his face, touch him like he's not stained, like he's not broken. He positively melts against her. He's putty in her hands and the strain of carrying around this newfound identity softens under her touch.

If she can love him - and she does, _god_ he knows she does - then he can't be as bad as he thinks he is.

She might deserve better than him, in his mind, but he's pretty sure he needs her. He can't _imagine_ going through this without her. He doesn't want to.


	15. Chapter 15

He sleeps. She doesn't.

By the time he'd gotten out of the shower - something she'd been half tempted to join him for out of fear that he'd slip back into the pit of self-recrimination he'd seemed to have dug for himself - a bone-deep exhaustion had etched into his every feature. It made sense. The day had been _exhausting_ , mentally and otherwise. Truth be told, she'd expected to find him passed out on their bed by the time she stepped out of her inhumanly-fast shower, but she hadn't.

Instead, she'd found him sitting on the edge of the mattress in nothing but boxer shorts, looking small and lost, clearly waiting for her. Something in her heart had clenched tightly at the sight and the need to protect him - from himself, from everything - had surged in her veins. That feeling had only been reinforced when he'd spotted her and perked up noticeably at her presence.

"Lie down," she'd ordered gently.

"I just didn't want to fall asleep until you were done," he'd said.

 _I didn't think I could sleep without you next to me_ is what she'd heard.

"I know," she'd replied to the statements both spoken and not. "I'm done now."

He'd actually smiled at that - no small victory in her book - and reclined against the pillow, still watching her with tired eyes as she'd toweled off her hair.

"You're not even going to close your eyes until I'm in bed with you, are you?" she'd asked, unable to keep the delight from her voice.

"Nope," he'd confirmed.

She'd shaken her head as she tossed the towel into the laundry bin and made her way over to the bed, sliding in next to him and drawing him into her arms. His muscles had unbunched under the touch of her fingers as he'd drawn comfort from her presence, the feel of her skin against his seemingly a grounding force.

He'd sighed, nuzzled against the skin of her inner arm with his back pressed to her, the little spoon to her big one. Ironic, definitely, considering how much bigger than her he was. But she'd recognized it immediately for what it was. He'd needed her right then, had been allowing her to take care of _him_ , and she'd relished that.

She'd purposefully worn the smallest pair of sleep shorts and skimpiest tank top she could find, wanting as much skin-to-skin contact with him as she could get, but after a few moments of lying pressed up against his back, even that little bit of fabric had become incredibly annoying.

"Hold on," she'd whispered, pressing her lips to his temple as he'd shifted a little restlessly and she'd sat up to pull her shirt off, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry bin.

The warmth when she'd pressed her chest up against his back again had been perfect and the sigh of contented relief he'd let out had confirmed immediately that she'd done the right thing. There had been nothing sexual at all about the moment, in spite of the fact that they'd both been nearly nude. It had been about comfort, closeness, the soothing nature of touch.

"Sleep," she'd whispered, pressing another kiss into his hair as she'd stroked her fingers along his arm. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

And those had been the magic words, apparently, because he'd drifted off moments later. Strangely, she'd felt the weight of protectiveness build exponentially as he slumbered. She was his safeguard against the world, his champion against nightmares. Periodically, some twisted dream of his own making would draw pained noises from him and make him twitch in his sleep until she'd make soothing sounds and draw mindless patterns on his skin. She'd immediately taken the responsibility of this quite seriously, her role as the guardian to his dreams.

So, now… he sleeps, she does not, and he is calm in her arms.

Maybe she should be tired, too. Probably she should. But she's intensely on alert instead. Her fingers drift over his arm, through his hair. She presses soft, chaste kisses against the back of his neck as he sleeps on, his breathing even and light.

It's a strangely powerful feeling knowing that she can bring this level of peace to him.

Which is, quite frankly, the reason she feels so intensely defensive when someone knocks softly on their door.

She eases her arm out from under Oliver, running her hand through his hair softly once more before reaching for the nearest shirt. It's one of his, but she puts it on anyhow, immediately inhaling deeply, drawing in his lingering scent and letting it wash over her. The shirt falls well past the hem of her shorts, but she decides she doesn't care about that at all. If she gets her way, she's hoping to crawl back into bed in just a moment.

"Hey," she says in a hushed voice as she pulls open the door a bit to find Inara on the other side.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the de-facto captain tells her sincerely as Felicity crosses her arms and looks back toward the still-sleeping Oliver.

"What's going on?" Felicity asks, bypassing any sort of assurement that the disruption was fine.

It would be a lie, after all, and she's not sure, but she thinks she's probably a pretty terrible liar.

"There's another ship closing in on us," Inara tells her with no preamble, setting Felicity immediately on edge.

"So… what? You want to wake Oliver up so that he can defend us all and everyone can stare at him in silent judgement for doing exactly what was needed?" Felicity bites out.

"I am grateful for his actions earlier," Inara tells her with serious, piercing eyes. "And I don't consider it my place to judge him when his actions saved all our lives. But I don't begrudge those that didn't have the stomach for it either."

 _Simon_ , her mind immediately supplies. It was the others too, to some degree, but none like Simon.

" _Someone_ could have reassured him that they knew he did what was necessary," Felicity insists more clearly. "That they appreciated him for it."

"Someone did," Inara tells her with a thin smile. "And you did it beautifully. He didn't need our acceptance, Felicity. Not like he needed yours."

It's a cop-out, in Felicity's mind. Sure, he'd needed her to believe in him. She's his wife, after all. But he could definitely have used support beyond just her.

"Regardless, this ship isn't like the last one," Inara continues. "We're pretty sure it's one of our escape pods, though it looks to be heavily modified."

"It's manned?" Felicity asks warily.

"Yes, and it's trying to contact us. But it's sending an encrypted transmission and obviously we don't know the passwords to access them," Inara tells her.

"Huh…" Felicity says as something tickles the back of her mind.

"What?" Inara questions, curiosity edging her sharpened gaze.

"Nothing," says Felicity with a shake of her head as it slips away from her. "So what are we doing, then?"

"They're maybe twenty minutes out. Wash thinks they're going to try to dock with us," Inara says, splinters of anxiety at the idea piercing her voice.

"Are we going to _let_ them?" Felicity questions, her eyebrows raised.

"We don't have much choice," Inara points out. "We can't just drift forever. And our own escape pod seems like the most promising lead on what happened to us."

She's right, of course, but it also emphasizes to Felicity that she wasn't exactly _wrong_ when she assumed Inara had been here for Oliver's combat skill-set.

"You want Oliver there when they dock in case we're in danger from these people," Felicity concludes.

"It is… in all of our best interests to err on the side of caution," Inara tells her simply. "His included."

To put it mildly, that answer _infuriates_ Felicity. She can feel the burn in her cheeks as her face reddens in anger and the her blood boils in her veins. Inara actually takes a small step back, hesitance and apology painted in equal parts across her face, but as Felicity opens her mouth to lay into the other woman, a voice cuts her off.

"She's right."

"Oliver…" Felicity says, turning to find him standing just a few steps behind her, having pulled on a pair of pants but not a shirt. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," he reminds her with a smile. "But it sounds like naptime is over now. She's right. We need to be prepared in case it's like last time."

It's not that Felicity objects to him fighting - she doesn't. No, what she objects to is the way he'd blamed himself _afterwards_ and the way everyone had looked at him like a guard dog they didn't really trust. It makes her sick to think about him going through that again. It's not fair. He's deserves so much better than that.

"It's okay. I'm okay," he promises her, seemingly reading her mind as he places both hands on her shoulders and she tilts her head to rest her cheek on one. "If we end up under attack again… I want to help save the ship. I feel like that's my responsibility. But even if it weren't, keeping the ship safe means keeping _you_ safe."

She bites her lower lip as she looks at him, completely disregarding Inara standing quietly in the background. With a sigh, she gives a little nod and steps forward to pull him into a hug.

"You're more than a weapon, Oliver," she tells him quietly, right next to his ear. "I just don't want you to forget that."

"I don't think you'd let me," he tells her with an affectionate smile that she can hear in his voice.

"Nope," she confirms, pulling back to look at him. "Never. Not a chance, mister."

She's a little bit lost in his eyes when Inara clears her throat and draws both of their attention back to the present and the very real imminent threat they're all facing.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Oliver tells her and Inara tilts her head in acknowledgement.

"Thank you," she offers up before heading off and leaving Oliver and Felicity alone again.

There's a moment after the door shuts where they just look at each other, he smiles as he kisses her forehead and tucks some loose hair behind her ear.

"As incredible as you look in my shirt, I'm going to need it back," he tells her.

She narrows her eyes like she doesn't quite believe him. After all, she's the one who dug through the dressers and searched their closet earlier. She's well aware that he's got more shirts.

"You just want me topless," she accuses… _correctly_ if the look on his face as his eyes trace the line of her body is any indication.

"I wouldn't call it a down side," he agrees watching very closely as she unbuttons the shirt slowly before tossing it at him.

That he damned near drops the shirt is a very clear sign of exactly how distracted he is by her. She's seen his reflexes in action. She's well aware he should have caught the cloth with ease.

He steps toward her, all kinds of mischief in his eyes as he reaches for her, grabs her around the waist and pulls her close.

"Oliver, we don't have time for this," she chastises lightly as his hand travels up to cup her breast and he leans down to press his lips to hers.

"I like a challenge," he counters, rubbing a thumb over her nipple and earning a whimper that she can't quite keep in the back of her throat.

" _Oliver_ ," she moans. "After. Okay? Later. We have ten minutes to get there."

" _I_ have ten minutes to get there," he clarifies, pulling back a little and letting his hand fall back to her waist. "You shouldn't be there at all."

"What? No!" she protests. "I'm going too."

"I want you to stay here where it's safe," he tells her.

"Well too bad," she counters. "I want to be with you. Unsafe."

"Felicity…" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm not staying here, Oliver," she tells him more firmly. "Not when I have no way of knowing what's going on. I'm going to be by your side where I can help and support you. That's where I belong."

"Okay," he agrees, kissing her forehead and easing the tension out of her body that had very quickly built up. "Okay. God, you amaze me."

"Yeah, well… you're pretty amazing yourself," she tells him.

He looks like he doesn't know what to say to that, but she's pretty sure he doesn't agree. This is a problem. She's going to have to work on convincing him of that. Because he _is_ amazing and he deserves to know that.

"As much as it pains me to say it… you're going to need a shirt," he tells her, breaking her away from her thoughts.

"Maybe for the short term," she agrees playfully, grinning at the delighted look that takes over his face.

"Keep it up and we'll never get out of here," he warns.

"Maybe that's my nefarious plan," she suggests even as she reaches for her dresser drawers and bends down to grab some clothes.

He groans from somewhere behind her and she casts a look over her shoulder to find him staring longingly at her ass.

"It's _working_ ," he tells her huskily as she grins.

" _Later_ ," she repeats, standing up with clothes in hand and turning toward the bathroom. "For now, we have a ship to save."

"Right."

* * *

Uneasiness spreads like wildfire, each member of the crew just as on-edge as the last while virtually everyone stands near the escape pod's docking port awaiting the small ship's imminent arrival. They're all armed, having found another cache of ammunition after the earlier fight.

The _only_ exception to all of this is River, who looks fully unconcerned and is sitting cross-legged with her back against the wall as she stares at her own hair swinging it in front of her face.

She is not, Felicity realizes, anything near approaching reliable.

Oliver, on the other hand… Oliver looks like a force to be reckoned with. He's standing right in front of the hatch, bow aimed and arrow nocked as _someone_ on the other side latches things in place in preparation for the door to open.

She's _proud_ of him, she realizes suddenly. This is pride she's feeling. He's willingly putting himself between everyone else and danger and he's doing it without a second thought because it's the right thing to do.

If she weren't in love with him already, she's pretty sure this would do it.

When the doors hiss, slide open, no one breathes. The silence is profound, the tension thick. But it's not invaders with shredded faces and claw-like hands that grab for them on the other side of the door.

That might, however, have been less surprising.

"Thea!" someone shouts sharply from within the pod, but a slim, dark-haired girl barrels out, heedless of the other woman's calls.

"Oh thank _god!"_ she says dramatically, throwing herself at Oliver and hugging him tightly, much to Oliver's extreme confusion.

A battle, he'd been prepared for. A hug, he had not. And he looks completely thrown and no less tense than before. Frankly, the girl is lucky that he didn't treat her hug as an assault.

"You jackass!" the girl says, pulling back and shoving him hard in the shoulder. "What the hell are you even doing? There's a _reaver_ ship nearby and you don't even answer your comms? What the hell, Ollie? I thought you were dead! _Again_."

Still in the pod are a man and a woman, both armed and watching everyone else with heavy reservation.

" _Thea_ …" the woman repeats, clearly picking up that something isn't quite right.

"Drop the weapons," Digg orders the newcomers as he and Lyla train their pistols on the pair.

"Digg, what are you doing?" Thea asks, stepping back from Oliver and looking at him clearly for the first time since she got there.

"Drop. Them," Digg repeats, looking deathly serious.

The duo still on the pod look to each other for a moment before the blonde woman nods and drops her weapon, holding her hands up non-threateningly.

"You know us?" Oliver asks, still looking at the girl in front of him with caution etched into every feature.

"Is this a joke?" Thea asks, looking around like she's waiting for someone to laugh.

"Do you _know me_?" Oliver asks again, a little more demanding, and Felicity finds herself making her way to stand at his side as he faces the newcomers.

"Ollie, I'm your sister," the girl says with equal parts concern and gravity. "What the hell is going on?"

"Get the gas masks," the woman on the pod orders the man standing there. " _Now Roy_!"

"No need," River says from her place against the wall as Roy scrambles through what looks to be emergency supplies. "It drifts and fades away like memories. Long gone, split to pieces and floating away on the wind."

"It's a ship. There is no wind," the woman says sharply, grabbing a gas mask from Roy's outstretched hand and pulling it over her face. "When did this start?"

"You first," Inara says commandingly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sara. This is Roy and that's Thea," the blonde says. "Roy and I are part of the crew. Thea is Oliver's sister. We left to pick her up a little over a day ago."

"We woke up about a day ago with no memories at all," Inara says after a moment.

"No… _no_ memories?" Thea asks, looking at Oliver with wide eyes and deep concern.

"Nothing but some lingering feelings. We wouldn't even know our names if River hadn't told us," Oliver replies.

"It's GBK. It has to be," Sara says shaking her head.

"But how'd it get on the ship?" Roy asks from behind his matching face mask.

"What the hell is GBK?" Mal questions.

"Fast-acting air-borne chemical mixture that causes long-term memory loss if it goes untreated," Sara tells him. "It has the distinct advantage of leaving skill-sets intact, though, and _sometimes_ some vague sense of attachment to people."

"Sure. ' _Vague,'"_ Digg scoffs, casting a glance at Oliver and Felicity.

"What's that mean?" Thea questions.

"It means those two 've been all kinds of lovey-dovey from the get-go," Jayne tells them.

"... _What_?" Sara asks, her eyebrows shooting up in astonishment as Roy starts laughing behind her.

"What?" Oliver asks, sounding more than a little defensive to Felicity's ears, his hand settling itself against her back, as if to remind himself that she's close at hand.

"Ollie, that's…" Sara starts, shaking her head. "Oh it _would_ take you losing every trace of your memory to admit how you feel about her."

Felicity's _pretty sure_ she stops breathing at that. Oliver might too. His hand certainly stills on her back.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he challenges, his tone on edge and clearly ready for a fight.

"You mean they ain't married?" Jayne asks, pointing his thumb at the two of them.

" _Married_?" Thea asks with a half-laugh and her eyes bugging out.

"They aren't even dating," Roy chimes in. "Just dancing around each other and living in denial."

"As far as I know, the only time you two have so much as kissed was for part of an undercover operation," Sara tells them.

Some mixture of fear, loss and disbelief washes through Felicity's veins and she looks up to Oliver - wanting to counter what the others are saying, wanting _him_ to counter it - but their lack of memories makes that impossible.

"I don't believe you," Oliver growls lowly, looking at least as upset as he has at any point in the last 24-hours and pulling her closer to him like he's terrified she'll fade away under his fingertips.

"Ollie…" Thea starts.

"No," he snaps at her. "You're wrong."

"The rings, though…" Felicity says, looking from Thea to Sara with hesitance as she holds up her hand.

Thea stares at her hand mournfully for a long moment before clearing her throat.

"That was my mother's. Our mother's," she says finally. "I didn't even know that Ollie had it."

"Well it's hers now," Oliver snaps. "Because she's my _wife_."

"Ollie… I get that this is hard for you, but she's _not_ ," Sara replies heavily.

" _That's_ what everyone is focusing on?" Lyla asks in disbelief. "Look, I'm sorry for the 'verse-shattering revelation about your love life, but what the hell were you talking about with an undercover operation?"

"It's… complicated," Sara says uneasily. "It's probably easier if we get your memories back and let you figure it all out for yourself."

"Hell yes," Digg says. "Let's do that."

"There should be a counteragent in the med bay," Sara nods.

There's a stiffness in Oliver's frame that Felicity can't ignore and the look in his eyes is almost panicked. She turns to solidly face him, puts one hand on his chest, and looks up at him with sincerity and solidarity.

"We're fine, Oliver," she tells him quietly. "Even if they're telling the truth. We know that this is real. Memories or not, I love you. That's not going to change."

Thea heard her. She knows it from the sharp intake of breath behind her, but she can't bring herself to care. Not when Oliver's looking lost and hopeful all at once and reaching up to touch the side of her face with almost hesitant fingers. She puts her hand over his, turns her face to kiss his palm and he sighs in relief or contentment, she's not quite sure.

"Can we talk in private for a moment?" he asks her as she looks back up at him and he strokes his thumb along her cheekbone.

She nods almost imperceptibly and he blinks and licks his lips before he lets his hand drift to her back and looks past her to the others.

"We'll meet you in the medical bay," he tells them. "I want to talk with Felicity about something first."

"Don't take too much time, Ollie," Sara warns. "The longer you're under the effects of the GBK the more likely it is to have lasting effects.

"Got it," he agrees with a tight smile as he turns and leads Felicity into the hall to find a quiet space.

She can see the wheels turning in his head, the concern and anxiety are painted all over his face and she wishes more than anything that she could soothe that away. But she can't. Because she feels it, too.

Her gaze catches her wedding ring, so at home on her finger. Is it even hers? Are Sara and Thea and Roy right? It's barely been on her finger a day but she already can't imagine taking it off. She doesn't want to. And the thought of not being able to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him as they sleep… it's enough to send a shot of terror shooting through her.

Suddenly, they stop, he pulls her into some room filled with computers that feels oddly familiar and he looks at her with words on his lips that he seems nervous to say.

"Felicity…" he starts, tangling his fingers in hers and looking down to stare at their joined hands.

"It'll be okay, Oliver," she reassures him again. "It _has_ to be. We have to believe that."

"I don't want to do it," he says abruptly, looking back to her face as he speaks.

"...What?" she asks, feeling like the ground has just been pulled out from under her.

"Let's not do it," he says, almost begging. "Whatever we were before… or weren't… I'm happy now. Aren't you?"

"Oliver," she breathes out, scarcely believing her ears.

"I don't want things to change," he insists, his eyes imploring her to agree as his hands grip hers. "If we weren't together before… whatever we've lost can't be as much as we've gained. So let the others go back to the way things were. Let's stay like this. Just you and me."


	16. Chapter 16

Stay like they are…

The surprising thing is how badly she's tempted by his idea. Not that the proposal itself isn't surprising - it is - but there's a yearning deep inside her gut that throws her more. It's screaming for her to say yes, to be selfish, to put her arms around him and hold on to him at the exclusion of everything else.

But she can't.

She needs to know who she was. It's a mystery right now and... she's not sure, but she thinks she hates those. And anyhow, he might think he wants nothing of his past now, but what about in a month? A year? _Ten_ years? The idea that one day he might resent her if she agrees with his plan now is more than enough to make the decision for her.

"That girl… your sister…" Felicity starts, eyes set on him as she speaks.

"What about her?" Oliver asks, his brow knit as he studies her with apprehension written in every line of his features.

"You felt something toward her. You remembered her or at least that you had a connection to her. That's why you didn't react defensively when she hugged you, isn't it?" Felicity asks.

She knows she's right instantly from the look on his face, hesitant and searching. His brow twitches and his mouth turns down in the smallest of frowns.

"She means something to you and you clearly mean something to her," Felicity emphasizes, placing a hand on his chest as she talks. "She deserves for you to remember her."

He sighs, deep and long, shuts his eyes against the truth of her words and rests his forehead against hers.

"I just don't want to lose you," he breathes out.

"Oh, Oliver," she sighs, placing her hands on the back of his neck. "That's the one thing in all of this that we have control over."

He pulls back slightly, opens his beautiful blue eyes and looks at her like he's trying desperately to believe her. She strokes the skin of his neck with her thumbs, soothing little circles next to his spine as she smiles slightly at him.

"I don't know why we weren't together before," she tells him. "But this experience has been more than enough to prove to me that I want us to be. Very much so. And memory or not, married or not, I'm yours. Okay? I'm yours as long as you want me."

"I can't even _imagine_ not wanting you," he tells her with something that almost passes as a laugh.

"Good," she smiles, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

It's soft, full of promise, and she loses herself in the rightness of it all. They're unhurried, content to just _be_ together, to hold each other close and live in the moment.

She wants this forever.

There's not a doubt in her mind.

"Okay," he agrees with newfound resolve when they finally part. "We should do it. You're right."

"Even though I don't remember it, I get the feeling that that's not something I ever get tired of hearing," she grins, tangling her fingers in his again.

"I bet you don't," he chuckles. "I'm kind of expecting to have to say it a lot."

"Come on," she says shaking her head and tugging him a little toward the door. "Our past awaits."

"And our future, too," he reminds her.

"Definitely," she says, resting her head against his shoulder as he lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her instead.

They walk like that, through the quiet halls of the ship toward the medical bay, with their arms around each other and her cheek pressed against his bicep. And if part of her has a sense of foreboding about the whole thing, Felicity says nothing of it. They need to do this. There isn't really a choice, as much as Oliver might have presented it like there was one.

They get there faster than she's ready for. Was the medical bay always this close? She feels like it wasn't. But what does she know, really? It's not like she remembers much of the ship's layout.

And… yes, okay, she's hesitant about all of this in spite of her words earlier. Of course she is. But she believes in her husband - her _whatever_ he is to her - and she can't imagine a 'verse where she doesn't want her life interconnected with his, so she has to have faith that this will all work out.

Still… the looks on everyone's faces when they walk in the room are more than enough to make her steps falter.

"As second-in-command, I'm ordering everyone to get the hell out of here unless they're Oliver, Felicity, me, or the doctor," Digg says with a sense of self-assurance that tells Felicity plainly that he's got his memories back.

"Johnny…" Lyla says with a warning tone.

"My place is here, Lyla," he tells her with a tone that makes Felicity a bit antsy. "You know that."

The look she casts towards Oliver… Felicity can't define it. She's not sure she wants to. There's a guarded element to it, something both respectful and wary and Felicity has no idea what to make of that. But the other woman leaves without more than a crisp nod of her head.

"You're a doctor?" Felicity asks Simon, who makes no move to leave, because - really - that's the easiest part of all of this to comprehend.

"Yes," Simon affirms as he fiddles with some medical supplies that seem vaguely familiar to her.

"Didn't you throw up at the sight of blood?" she wonders aloud without thinking about precisely how much that had bothered Oliver.

"Yes, well… that is something I learned to get over, eventually," Simon responds crisply.

"Huh…" Felicity replies, staring at him like it doesn't quite make sense. "So… if you're second-in-command, Digg, who is captain?"

"You two gonna get your memories back or did you two decide to live in fantasyland?" Digg asks them, his enormous arms folded in front of him and his stance wide.

"How did you…" Felicity starts staring at him in wonderment.

"I probably know you better than you know yourselves right now," Digg tells her. "I didn't have a doubt in my mind that that was what Oliver was asking you."

"We're getting our memories back," Oliver says, rubbing Felicity's back in a way that's either meant to comfort her or him or both.

"Then don't you think it would be easier if we just gave you back your memories instead of answering questions you've already got the answers to locked away somewhere in your heads?" Digg asks, looking amused in spite of himself.

"Yes, but I really want to know who the captain is. It's bothering me," Felicity tells him after a moment of fidgeting.

"Of _course_ it is," Digg sighs, rolling his eyes. "It's Oliver. He's the captain."

"I _am_?" Oliver asks, blinking at the other man in surprise.

"Yeah, man, you are," Digg says with a chuckle.

"Are we really… not married?" Felicity asks him, hoping desperately that he'll contradict the others earlier.

"No," he tells her, shaking his head. "You're not."

"But are we-" she starts again until Digg cuts her off with an affectionate but sympathetic half-smile.

"Felicity, there is nothing in this entire 'verse that could make me attempt to define the relationship between the two of you," Digg tells her kindly but with total decisiveness. "That is one can of worms I refuse to open."

She can feel a frown pulling at the edges of her mouth as her eyebrows draw together in worry. She _really_ doesn't like the sound of that.

"I am sure-as-hell looking forward to you two figuring it out, though," he tells them, casting a knowing look at Oliver that seems to make him uneasy.

She's about to ask another question. Because of _course_ she is. She's brimming with them. And, yes, Digg had an excellent point that they'd remember everything in the near future anyhow, but some part of her is still searching for answers, trying to firm her resolve that she's making the right choice.

Oliver, however, apparently doesn't share her desire to question Digg further.

"I'd say we just did," Oliver says, beaming at her with affection.

It takes Felicity a moment to backtrack and realize he's responding to Digg's comment about looking forward to them figuring out their relationship.

Oh, _Oliver_.

His smile is easy, open, so encouraging, and her heart clenches at the sight. He's so certain right now. She wishes she were. But for _some_ reason their relationship before was undefinable, apparently, even to them. That makes her nervous because for the life of her she can't figure out _why_. What could _possibly_ have kept them apart with feelings as strong as theirs? And… and would it happen again? Would one of them push the other away?

She can scarcely even stand to think it.

"This isn't going to get any easier by putting it off," he tells her, grabbing her hand and bringing her knuckles up to kiss them.

"No," she agrees, smiling a little at the touch of his lips to her hand. "It's not."

Her anxiety must be showing because he draws her to his chest and kisses the top of her head. She breathes in his scent and lets it wash over her. It feels like home and she's terrified of losing it.

"We don't have to do this," he murmurs into her hair. "If it's too much… You're all I need. You know that."

"No. We do. We have to," she says, steeling her resolve and using every ounce of willpower she's ever had to step back from him.

"You, ah… might want to take a seat," Simon says, drawing both of their attention to the man standing a few feet away with a pair of syringes in his hands. "The effects of remembering everything all at once can be somewhat dizzying."

Literally as well as metaphorically, she presumes, taking a seat on the hospital bed. Oliver perches himself next to her, holding her hand with a gentle reassurance that she doesn't quite feel.

"I think I hate needles," she mumbles to herself as Simon closes in with clinical precision and Oliver's grip tightens on her hand.

Simon's right.

It's dizzying.

Just after the pinch of the needle bites into the skin on the inside of her elbow, the memories start. There are too many at once for them to make sense at first and she sways slightly even though she's sitting.

She might have fallen right off the bed, actually, had Oliver not steadied her and Digg not gripped her shoulder.

It's not like a veil lifting, not like the memories already inside her are somehow being revealed. It's like rain, a downpour of every experience she's ever had washing over her. The reality of it is cold as it slithers down her spine and the sense of foreboding that had been living quietly in her veins multiplies exponentially.

"John?" she asks, looking up at her friend like he might be able to offer some kind of clarity.

His answering smile is sad, almost pitying and she wants to retch at the sight of it.

"Welcome back, Felicity," he tells her.

She didn't _go_ anywhere though. Not really. She wants to argue that. Tell him she's the most _her_ she's ever been without hesitation and fear borne of experience there to hold her back. But Oliver's tightening grip on her fingers is so, _so_ much more important.

"Oliver, you-" she chokes out, turning to look at him.

She's not sure exactly what she had intended to say. Maybe she would have told him he should stop, that she'd been wrong. Maybe she would have told him that it wasn't worth it, that he'd be happier like this. But ultimately the needle is already in his arm and he's blinking like the world is swimming around him so there's nothing she can do but watch as the memories wash over him.

He winces like they burn him.

Maybe they do. He has five years lost in reaver territory coming back to him all at once. She can't even imagine the horrors washing over him right now. She'd do anything to save him from that, to _comfort_ him about that, but she's infinitely less sure of her role in his life than she was an hour ago and she doesn't know if that's her place anymore.

He drops her hand and grips his own knees instead, his fingers turning white as they clench tightly, his face pinched and pained like he's trying to hold back some horribly primal scream.

It's killing her to see this. It's absolutely tearing her apart. She shrugs off John's hand and hops off of the bed, standing instead in front of Oliver and placing her hands over his.

"You're safe," she tells him. "You're on your ship. There's no threat. We're all safe."

His face is downturned, but she thinks he's staring at their hands as he breathes harshly through barely parted lips.

It's a very long moment where no one says a word.

Then, he turns his head up toward her and she actually stumbles backwards at the look on his face. There is so much regret. So much pain directed at her. She feels like she's been kicked in the gut and it socks the wind right out of her.

"Felicity… I am sor-"

"Don't you dare," she manages, her voice breaking on the last word as she blinks too hard. "If you're going to apologize to me for… don't you _dare_ , Oliver."

"I never meant to-"

"Stop," she says again, considerably more weakly, looking down as she tries to regain her composure.

Her gaze catches on her wedding ring, though - Moira's wedding ring… not hers, she mentally corrects herself. It's shining brilliantly through the distortion of the tears she's barely keeping in her eyes and the sense of loss is utterly overwhelming.

One day. She'd had him for _one day_ and it had been so much better than she would have ever dared to imagine. And now… now she feels like a piece of her is missing. Ironic, considering in truth she just got a piece of herself _back_.

"Felicity-" Oliver starts again.

"Man, not now," Digg chastises, his tone sharp.

"I need to go," Felicity says roughly, looking toward Simon but hiding her face from Digg and Oliver as tears start spilling over the edges of her eyelids. "Can I go?"

"Just see me immediately if you have any unusual side effects - memory loss or reasoning problems," Simon tells her sympathetically.

She nods but says nothing else before bolting from the room as fast as her feet will carry her.

* * *

"I ought to beat the crap out of you for the way you just handled that, but I feel like you're already doing a pretty good job of that yourself," Digg tells Oliver gruffly as he folds his arms in front of his chest.

Truth be told, he'd more-or-less expected this reaction from his broody, self-effacing captain. Still, that doesn't mean he hadn't hoped he was _wrong_.

"Digg…" Oliver sighs, looking as overwhelmed as he probably is.

"I love that girl like she's my sister, Oliver," John tells him, barely noticing as Simon makes his excuses and escapes from the room. "You know that. Now how the hell would _you_ react if someone made _your_ sister as happy as Felicity was an hour ago and then had the nerve to try to apologize for it?"

"I would tell him he was an idiot who wasn't good enough for her," Oliver says with a wet laugh, looking up sorrowfully at John. "And I'd be right. I'm not good for her, John. I'm not good for anyone, but especially not her."

Digg grunts and shakes his head in reproach. He cannot begin to count the number of times that Oliver has frustrated him over the years, but this is easily amongst the worst.

"For a smart man, you make a lot of stupid choices when it comes to that girl," Digg tells him.

"John," Oliver says with an exasperated shake of head. "Believe me, I'm making the very best choice I can for her. I have no business trying to make _anyone_ happy."

"Did getting your memories back mess with your short-term recall?" Digg challenges, blinking at the other man like he's lost his mind instead of gained his memories. "Have you _ever_ seen her as happy as she was the last day? Cause I haven't."

"She didn't even know who I was, Digg!" Oliver protests.

"Yes she did," John counters. "And she loved you for it. _You_ didn't know who you were. That's the only difference."

Oliver looks like he wants to protest, but can't find the words. The tension and frustration that had mostly faded away in the last day or so are suddenly back in full force. As his friend, it sucks for John to see all of Oliver's burdens resettle themselves on his shoulders. He can't even begin to imagine what it had to be like for Felicity, how badly she must have wanted to soothe that away all over again.

"Her first instinct when she got her memories back was to comfort _you_ ," Digg points out.

"She shouldn't have to do that," Oliver protests, visibly frustrated.

"Man, you just don't get it, do you?" Digg asks, shaking his head at the other man. "She _wants_ to."

"Maybe…" Oliver starts with a far-off look. "Maybe if things were different. If I weren't so... "

"So _what_?" John prods. "You think you're damaged. You think you're broken. But, man, she saw you fight off those reavers. And even without her memory she wasn't scared or pitying. She was just _grateful_ to you for saving her life and mad at the rest of us for not giving you a thank you! If you think all the dark things you went through are too much for her, you aren't giving that girl enough credit. And, Oliver… shame on you for that."

He's said his piece. Oliver will either listen or he won't - probably the latter if history is any judge - but maybe some of it will sink in. Regardless, Digg's got somewhere else he needs to be right now, so he turns to leave.

"Are you going to check on her?" Oliver asks, an uncharacteristic amount of anxiety and longing on his face when Digg pauses to look at him.

"Somebody needs to," Digg tells him. "And something tells me right now you'd only make things worse."

"I never meant to hurt her, John," Oliver says.

"Yeah, well… you did," Digg tells him. "And if she ends up crying on me, I _am_ gonna punch you."

"Good," Oliver says with a far away, sad look in his eyes. "I'd deserve it."

At least he knows _that_ much, John decides with a gruff, half-satisfied grunt as he turns and walks out of the room.

He'd seen this all coming. He's _known_ from the moment his memories had settled back in place that post-amnesiac Oliver would regress at least as far back as he had been before the GBK. It was like the man was allergic to happiness, afraid of joy. Then again, given how little of it was present in his life for so long, maybe he had just learned not to trust it to last. Maybe he was so scared of losing contentment and peace that he'd just decided it wasn't worth having in the first place. Maybe it was nothing more than a soldier's sense of self-preservation.

But Felicity deserves better than that. Oliver does, too, but he's doing this to himself. Felicity isn't. That makes all the difference to John.

There are exactly two places on the ship where John knows Felicity might be - the engine room or her server room. But considering it looked like Oliver had dragged her to the server room for their last little marital chat, he is pretty sure that's out at the moment. Rounding the corner to the hallway leading to the engine room, he sees Kaylee hovering outside the door and knows for sure he's right.

"She won't let me in," Kaylee says with concern in place of a greeting. "I ain't got no idea what to say to her anyhow, but I was gonna aim to _try_ , you know?"

"It's okay, Kaylee," Digg says, resting his hand on the small young woman's shoulder.

"It ain't!" Kaylee insists in a near wail. "I'm pretty sure she's cryin'. It's all just so tragic an' heartbreaking an' I wanna kick the cap'n in the kneecaps for her!"

"Thanks, Kaylee," he tells her with a grim sigh. "I got this."

"K, you tell her if she wants me to give him a piece of my mind or t' help her burn his stuff, I'm her gal," Kaylee says with a fiercely loyal determination that John is quickly finding he respects her a hell of a lot for.

"I will let her know that you're on board for mutiny," John says with an almost amused look.

"Oh… Oh I ain't meanin'-" she starts, paling some at his words.

" _Relax_ , Kaylee," he assures her. "I know what you meant."

Her sigh of relief is so deep it's nearly comical.

"K, I'm gonna go make sure we got everything corrected up in the pilot's seat, just in case Wash messed somethin' up cause he didn't remember what he was doin'," Kaylee tells him.

Digg nods his agreement and watches her go, waiting until her footsteps no longer echo down the hall before he knocks on the engine room door. He can hear Felicity inside but she doesn't respond.

"...You can't tell me you don't need a friend right now," he says after a moment.

It's only a few seconds later that he hears the door's lock click and she slides it open. If anything, she's worse off than he'd expected. Her face is red and blotchy with obvious tear tracks streaking down her cheeks. Her eyes are still red and watery and something tells him she's damned near the edge of hysteria.

"I can't get it off," she says, sobbing a little on the last word and sniffling.

"What are you-"

"The _ring_ ," she tells him as the tears start up fresh. "My wedding ring. _Moira's_ wedding ring. It's stuck and I can't get it off and it needs to come off, Digg. It _has_ to. If he's going to… if he's going to pretend like the last day didn't happen or _worse_ like it was some kind of awful mistake he regrets - like he regrets _me_ \- I have to have it off. It has to come off!"

"Hey… hey," he says, trying to take the edge off of her increasingly manic words. "We'll get it off, okay?"

She nods fiercely in response and he takes her hand in his. Her ringer is red and swollen from her obvious attempts to get the ring off and he can't help but wince at the picture it presents.

He's pretty sure that even once they get the thing off, it's ghost is going to live on her finger - taunting her - for a very long time.

"Hold on a second. Okay? Just… give me a second," he tells her, looking around the room.

It doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for, a spare container of engine oil tucked away in the far corner. He strides over quickly, grabs it and pours a small amount into his hands before turning back to her.

"Where is my _brain_?" she asks, blinking at him. "I didn't even think of that."

"It's okay, Felicity," he tells her, walking back over and working the oil around her ring finger. "You've had a hell of a day."

The ring slips off with ease then and Felicity takes to rubbing her finger like she's trying to reassure herself it's no longer there.

"He said he loved me," she says a moment later, in barely more than a whisper.

"He does," Digg tells her.

"Not enough," Felicity says with a watery, painful smile.

"You and I both know it's nowhere near as simple as that," Digg responds.

"Maybe not," she agrees. "But that's what it boils down to. Half an hour ago he offered to give everything up just to be with me. Now he can't even look at me without guilt and regret."

"Come here," Digg orders, pulling the tiny blonde into his arms and letting her discretely cry against his shirt for a moment. "As twisted as it is… if he didn't love you, he wouldn't feel guilty about it now. You know that right?"

"That's _so_ messed up," Felicity mumbles into his shirt.

"That's Oliver," John replies, pulling back slightly to look down at her. "And as much as I'd like to tell you that this experience is gonna change him, I can't promise you that. I can't promise anything will ever make him feel like he's allowed to be happy. And Felicity, if the last day proved anything it's that you _do_."

"Well something has got to change," Felicity says, looking like every word hurts her. "And if it's not going to be him, it's going to have to be me."

"What does that mean?" Digg asks with a note of concern.

"I don't know yet," Felicity says. "But I'm done crying over Oliver Queen and an imaginary marriage that he clearly wishes had never happened."

Digg nods, watching as she steels herself, forces resolve to work its way through her body. Felicity is kind, beautiful, fierce and brilliant. Digg respects her as much as he's ever respected anyone. But he has his doubts that even _she_ can make herself stop loving someone.

Still… he respects her all the more for trying.

"Good for you," he tells her, meaning every word of it.


	17. Chapter 17

"Is this everyone who's coming?" Inara asks, for a moment sounding like she's still the default captain of the ship as everyone settles into chairs around the large dining table. "Should we begin?"

"Kaylee's patchin' up some damage left by the reavers. Simon's seein' to River. Wash is on pilot duty and Jaynes in time-out," Mal offers up.

" _Time-out_?" Lyla asks with raised eyebrows. "Is he five?"

"That might be bein' generous most of the time," Zoe harrumphs. "Trust me, you're not actually wantin' him here."

"Thea's looking after my namesake and Felicity is… taking the rest of the day for herself," Sara says, glancing at Oliver with a look that reeks of blame and disappointment.

Oliver's only response is to tighten his jaw and avoid looking back at her. He doesn't need Sara to tell him he's messed things up. He's well aware of that all on his own. The first thing Digg had done when he'd walked in the room - wearing a different shirt than before - was punch him ridiculously hard on the shoulder. The emotional hit he took from that was considerably greater than the physical one. He knows what that punch meant. He knows he's made Felicity miserable and he deserves to suffer for it. And he _is_ suffering. It's tearing him apart. But that's beside the point at the moment.

Right now, he has to be captain.

"Lyla, if you want to start by explaining what you found," Oliver says, refocusing on the purpose of this entire meeting.

She nods crisply, her eyes even and non-judgemental. Of everyone onboard, it's Lyla and Inara who seem to best understand what he did and why. It's not surprising, really. Lyla's mindset has always been close to his. And Inara - like him - is limited in her personal entanglements by the choices she's made on how to live her life. Their masks are different, but she lives her life behind one as surely as he does.

"The timing of the GBK was entirely too close to my arrival to be coincidental," Lyla starts off, drawing Oliver's head back into the present.

"That hadn't actually escaped our attention," Mal deadpans.

"It wasn't me," Lyla tells him sternly. "I wouldn't do that to myself and I definitely wouldn't do that to my child."

"It's a little scary, you feelin' the need to qualify why you wouldn't go erasin' our memories 'stead of just sayin' it was a terrible, dirty rotten thing and you ain't that kind of person," Zoe notes.

"I _would_ do it," Lyla clarifies. "If my mission required it."

"Ain't that charmin'," Zoe drawls.

"You're missing the point," Lyla reiterates. "I _would_ have done this if necessary, under the right conditions. But I didn't. And I didn't have orders to."

"Don't mean it wasn't ARGUS," Mal points out. "Alliance is gonna use you however they see fit. It don't much matter if you work for them or not. Maybe they wanted you gassed, too."

"It's not Waller's style," Book pipes up with enough certainty shading his voice that it brokers no doubt.

"You don't think Waller's the type to go erasin' people's memories?" Zoe asks skeptically.

"I think if she had we wouldn't have them back right now," Book says with gravity.

"He's right," Digg adds. "If this were Waller we'd still be clueless and River would be long gone."

"I don't think ARGUS was the one who did this," Lyla starts. "I think ARGUS was the target."

Oliver sits up a little straighter at that as the gravity of those implications settle over him. Even just the mere suggestion of a player angling to take out ARGUS is enough to send a cold chill running down his spine.

"Say what now?" Mal asks warily.

"The GBK came from my shuttle. It was hidden in the ventilation system and there was enough to dose my entire ship," Lyla tells everyone. "But I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to head straight back to ARGUS after my last stop. I made damned sure to leave no trace of where I was actually going because Waller can't know I was giving you all classified information about the alpha-omega."

"So anyone who placed the gas would have thought you were headed straight back to ARGUS," Inara voices quietly.

"I hate to even ask this, but why would someone want a ship full of amnesiac ARGUS agents?" Roy asks, eyes darting around the room.

"Because GBK doesn't just take memories," Oliver sighs. "It leaves skill sets, too. You'd have a ship full of highly trained combat and intelligence operatives you could easily influence to do whatever you wanted."

No one has to voice precisely how terrible that could be. And there's a whole lot of uncomfortable silence for a long moment while everyone processes precisely what Lyla and Oliver are saying.

"Well… that ain't good," Mal says eventually in what might be the understatement of the year.

"No," Oliver agrees, sighing heavily. "It's not."

"So, who has the means and stupidity to take on ARGUS?" Sara asks.

"Would the League do it?" Oliver asks her.

"Would the Bratva?" she counters.

"Is there any shady organization you all _ain't_ affiliated with?" Zoe asks, blinking at them.

"Our kinda people," Mal nods approvingly.

Oliver more or less ignores him and his second in command, choosing instead to focus on Sara.

"Anatoly isn't going to strike at ARGUS unless it's defensive and I can't see Waller going after the Bratva. She's too 'big picture' for that," Oliver replies.

Sara looks like she's weighing his words for a moment before she nods in reply. Oliver doesn't really think it's the League going after ARGUS, but he knows there's no way it's the Bratva and he'd like to be just as sure about the League.

"I'll call Nyssa," Sara relents after a moment. "But Ra's doesn't need more men at his command and he wouldn't take on ARGUS and _lose_."

"We all need to reach out to our contacts," Oliver realizes, thinking as he speaks. "We're missing something. This has to be a big organization. Someone with an agenda and manpower as well as resources."

"It's whoever's after the alpha-omega," Roy says with a shrug, everyone turning to look at him as he speaks.

"What?" Lyla asks.

"Well… they're the ones ARGUS is focusing on right now, right?" Roy asks. "ARGUS is trying to ruin their plans. Makes sense they'd return the favor. And if they're ballsy enough to try and destroy the rim planets, they're definitely ballsy enough to take on ARGUS."

"...He's right," Digg muses.

"That only means we need to find out who did this even more," Oliver points out. "We have to stop this before it gets even more out of hand."

"Well, we got us a good starting point at least," Mal adds. "GBK ain't exactly something frequently on the black market."

"No," Oliver agrees. "It's not… can you lean on Badger? See what he knows?"

"He's all double-speak and pay-offs, but I can aim to try," Mal replies solemnly.

Oliver nods, thinking things through.

"Pay him, if you think it will help. I'll foot the bill," Oliver offers.

"I ain't so sure payin' Badger is much gonna be in your long term interests," Zoe cautions.

"I'm more worried about the short term at the moment," Oliver replies, though he notes that her concern is probably quite valid. "Roy, reach out to Sin and see if she's heard anything?"

"On it," Roy nods.

"I can make some discreet inquiries within the guild," Inara offers.

"Thank you," Oliver tells her immediately, fully aware of how unusual such an offer is from Inara.

"I've got some old buddies from the war who went freelance that I can check in with," Digg chimes in. "But Oliver, you should check with Anatoly and you should definitely send a wave to Lance."

Oliver winces at that. He's well aware the the gruff police captain might be a good source of information, but they don't have anything approaching a good relationship at the moment and the _last_ thing he wants to do is call on him for a favor.

"I'd do it but I've got no good reason to be asking him those kinds of questions," Sara points out.

"I know," Oliver replies. "It's fine. Just see if Nyssa knows anything. I'll talk to your father."

For once, a call to Captain Lance might not actually be the worst part of his day. Though, obviously, that says a whole more about his day overall than it does about his impending wave.

"We all got people we can make a call to," Mal notes. "Shepherd…"

"I will check with my flock," Book says with a thin smile that Oliver's not entirely sure he wants to see the meaning behind.

In fact, there's very little he's interested in seeing right now. This demands his immediate attention. He knows it and he's coping with that, playing the part of captain as best he can, but his heart's not here right now. No, it's a few corridors away with the girl he made cry, the girl he never wanted to hurt.

The image of her ducking her head back in the medical bay, hiding her face from him because she was crying and didn't want him to see, is seared into his mind's eye. It's all he can think about. She'd been _so happy_ before. He had, too. And now… now they're both miserable. And it's his own fault.

He wishes he'd pushed harder for them to stay like they were, without the ghost of Lian Yu and everything he's done filling the spaces between them. He loves easily. He always has. But it's never been as all-encompassing as it is with her and he's never in his entire life been as happy as he was yesterday.

It makes his misery now stand out in sharp contrast, the edges of it hurt more than usual. So quickly, he got used to transient things like joy and hope. Losing them now is a brutal reminder of why they're such a bad idea in the first place. He's not the sort of man who gets to keep those things. There's no place in his life for them.

" _Oliver_."

His head snaps up toward Digg and it's only then he realizes there's been the low murmur of voices around him that he's not paid any heed to. They're all looking at him now, faces masked in sympathy or blame or curiosity.

He's never wanted to escape his friends more.

"You good, man?"

There is literally no way he can answer that honestly and Oliver isn't much in the mood for lies at the moment.

"We'll meet back here tomorrow morning," he says instead. "We're all going to be jamming the comm frequencies with outgoing calls and it's been… a long couple of days for everyone. Take the evening. We'll meet up at breakfast."

He stands without waiting for an answer, avoiding lingering eye contact with anyone.

"I'll be gone by then," Lyla advises, drawing his attention. "I've already stayed too long. Waller's going to want answers on where I've been and there's no way I'm telling her about the GBK."

"Mechanical problems?" Oliver suggests.

"I'll have Kaylee help me stage some kind of engine trouble," Lyla agrees.

"Have a safe trip back," Oliver says.

"Thanks for the welcome, captain," she nods in reply.

"You're always welcome aboard my ship. You know that, Lyla," Oliver tells her, knowing she'll read between the lines.

If Waller is too much.

If ARGUS is too much.

She is Digg's wife. She is their friend and ally. He'll grant her and the baby sanctuary aboard his ship even if that means taking on ARGUS and Waller in the process.

"I appreciate that, captain," she smiles with a crisp nod of her head.

"Eight o'clock tomorrow," he says to everyone else, turning and striding out of the room without pause.

They're still talking. He can hear them somewhere in the background, but the din of his crew's voices only serves to make him walk away faster. One of the downsides of captaining a currently-very-overpopulated starship is that it's incredibly difficult to escape everyone.

And, wow does he want to be alone right now. His instinct tells him to run, leave everything behind. He's done it before. Back when Tommy died and the 'verse seemed like something he wasn't really entitled to be a part of. But that's not an option now and he knows it.

For half a moment he debates heading to one of the escape pods, holeing up there and wallowing for a bit, but ultimately he decides he's even less likely to be bothered in his own room.

It takes nothing more than opening his own door to realize that this _might_ be true if was still just his room.

It's not.

It's Felicity's too.

And she's there.

He stands stock-still in the doorway, horribly thrown by her presence but unable to look away. Her ponytail is wet and even from a side view of her he can see that her face is freshly washed but pink like she'd spent time scrubbing away any telltale evidence of tears. She's got a pile of clothes in her hands and she's clearly aware of his presence but she makes no move to turn and look at him. Not right away, anyhow.

"What are you doing?" he manages after a moment.

He knows the answer, though. He does. That's why hurt shades his voice and it's why Felicity finally gives him an incredulous look.

" _Tell_ me you're kidding," she challenges, one hand planted on her hip.

"Felicity…"

"No," she snaps. "Don't even start with me right now, Oliver. I'm bunking with Sara, so you don't have to worry about my _safety_ if that's still your concern."

"What do you mean 'if that's still my concern?' Of _course_ it is," he says, stepping into the room.

"Really, Oliver? _Really_?" she asks. "Because there's a whole ship full of people here but the only one hurting me here is _you_."

It's only the fact that her words make him stop in his tracks that forces him to realize he was still walking towards her, like some unseen force had been drawing him to her.

"I have never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe that," he implores, unashamed of how desperate he sounds because if there's one thing she knows about him - just one - he needs that to be it.

"Oh my god, Oliver, I _don't care_ ," she shouts at him, throwing the clothes in her hands into her bag before turning to look at him, fiery and utterly fuming. "Do you think that you regretting hurting me really matters? What matters is that you _did_ , that you still are! You tossed me aside as soon as things became inconvenient and emotionally uncomfortable for you. So you can take your good intentions and you can shove them because I'm not going to sit around your room with you staring at me like something that makes you feel guilty all the time."

He doesn't know how to make this right. He's got no clue, but he knows he needs to try. Every instinct he has is screaming at him to make this right.

"If there was… anything I did, or we did, or… anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or that makes you think I don't respect you, I just… want you to know that I'm sorry," he manages, words coming out in fits and spurts that almost make sense when strewn together. "Because I do respect you and I never want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

She pauses at that, blinking at him in disbelief.

"You think this is about sex?" she asks bewildered.

He has enough sense not to correct her that it wasn't _exactly_ sex, but only just.

"How can you not get this?" she asks him, shaking her head at him in astonishment.

He wants to say something, even though he's not sure what, but his voice catches in his throat as she steps a pace forward until she's barely more than a foot away from him.

It feels like miles.

"I'm a big girl, Oliver," she tells him unflinchingly. "I can handle fumbling around like a pair of horny teenagers in the back of an escape pod. I don't care about that."

"Then what-" he manages, simultaneously needing further explanation and trying to bar that rather vivid image from his brain.

"You told me you loved me and you _made me believe it_!" she yells at him.

He freezes in place, staring at her like she's the sun and he's dying of hypothermia in the dark. Since getting his memories back, he's focused more or less on wallowing in his own sins. He's spent very little time daring to think about the depth of Felicity's feelings, but they're surely on display now and there's no avoiding the intensity of them.

He doesn't deserve her. That's clearer now than ever.

 _I meant it_ , his heart screams. _I meant every word of it. I still do_.

But his lips stay pinched shut under the weight of all of the darkness and regrets and responsibilities weighing down on him.

"Do you… Do you have _any_ idea…" she starts to ask, but cuts herself off and pinches her eyes shut instead.

His hands itch to touch her. It's all so fresh in his head still, the feel of her skin under his fingertips, the way just a kind word and a gentle touch from him could make her smile at him, blinding in her brilliance. He wants that back so badly that it hurts, it aches in a new and horrible way.

Seemingly of their own accord, his hands reach toward her to cradle her face. He honestly doesn't even realize he's doing it until his calloused fingers brush the soft skin of her cheeks.

Her eyes fly open and his hands jolt back, suddenly under his control again. He even can't watch the horrible mixture of surprise and fresh pain that washes over her face as she steps back another foot from him, wrapping one arm around her midsection before she rubs at her face with the other hand. Like she's trying to scrub away the sensation of his fingers on her skin.

He hopes for her sake that she's more successful at it than he is.

"I can't be the person you want me to be," he tells her quietly, his voice hoarse and gritty with unshed tears as he stares at his traitorous hands.

"Oliver," she replies with a pained laugh. "Oh my god, you already are."

"You deserve so much better," he tells her.

"Than this?" she asks. "Yeah. I do. This _sucks_. No one deserves this. But you don't get to decide who is and isn't someone I deserve to have love me. That's _my_ choice."

"Yeah, it is," he agrees. "But refusing to be someone that you settle for when you deserve better is mine."

"Screw you, Oliver," she utters in a fierce, harsh voice, blinking back tears.

Maybe it's better if she's mad at him. He wants so much more for her than he can offer her. She deserves a life, stability, something more normal than the incredibly dangerous mission that's completely become his life. She's too _good_ for someone like him.

"If the ship needs fixing, you can talk to Kaylee," she tells him, grabbing her bag of clothes and pushing past him toward the door. "I don't want to see you for a few days. Maybe by then you'll have your head out of your ass."

She doesn't break stride, slamming the door shut violently as she storms out. Every last part of his heart feels like it shatters as she goes and he collapses on the bed with his head in his hands only to realize she's _everywhere_ in this room. It smells like her shampoo and she didn't take all of her clothes. The empty jewelry boxes sit mockingly on the dresser, his father's ring still adorns his hand.

He should take it off. He should, but he won't.

He's hers even if he won't let her be his.

Something primal in him wants to scream, to cry, to rage against himself and all of the horrible things that led them to this place.

He stands and punches the wall with all of his strength instead.

He's lucky the wall is an internal one and it gives some, dents the bulkhead instead of breaking his fingers. But it hurts. It hurts physically in a quiet mockery of how he hurts emotionally.

Shoulders sagging and shaking under the strain of emotions he so rarely lets himself express, he slumps to the ground against the dented wall and buries his face in his hands. And if everything overwhelms him, reduces him to wracking sobs borne of guilt and regret, at least he consoles himself that there's no one there to see it.

Because she deserves better.

And he knows it.


	18. Chapter 18

Three days later, he hasn't seen her at all. In fact, most of the crew has gone out of their way to avoid him with increasing frequency, though none as effectively as Felicity. But Digg's sudden tendency to communicate solely through grunts and Sara's blatant begging off of sparring together in favor of checking on her new roommate probably has a whole lot more to do with his ever-souring mood than it does with the mess between him and Felicity directly.

Probably.

He wouldn't want to spar against himself right now either.

The most noteworthy exception to people tending to duck out of the room as soon as he shows up lately is Kaylee. Mal's tiny engineer seems to have made it a point to seek him out just to glower at him threateningly. It would be ridiculous if it weren't so comforting. He's grateful that Felicity has a friend like her. She deserves nothing less.

He _does_ , however, wish his shower would start working properly again. And he's under no illusion that it was anyone other than Kaylee Frye who cut off his supply of hot water.

"Kaylee," he growls at the young woman when he finds her walking out of the engine room.

She stops, lifts her chin up and crosses her arms.

"Somethin' the matter, cap'n?" she challenges, completely uncaring that it's a terrible, _terrible_ idea to challenge him these days.

"Do you have any idea how cold it is in space?" he asks, barely restraining his annoyance.

"2.7 Kelvin on the regular," she replies, her tone crisp and unwavering.

"Barely above absolute zero," he agrees, biting the words out through clenched teeth. "Now, obviously there's a fair bit of heat from the ship itself warming up the water supply, but you can imagine how important heat is when taking a _shower in space_."

"I can see where that might bother you," she agrees. "Seein' as you're cold-blooded an' all."

"Fix it," he grits out. "And maybe keep in mind that you're a _guest_ on my ship."

"I ain't a guest," she huffs at him. "You're payin' our crew, if ya recollect. And I ain't much for mindin' my tongue 'round my own captain, I surely ain't gonna do it around you when you went an' broke my friend's heart."

There's plenty she's said that warrants responding to, but she's pointing her finger at him while she speaks and he's completely distracted by sky blue polish coating her nails. It's Felicity's handiwork. He has no doubt. And not just because he remembers a bottle of that color making its home on his bathroom countertop a week ago.

The sudden image of the two of them painting each other's nails while Kaylee rants about him and provides Felicity with much-needed fiercely loyal support is blinding in its clarity. He can _see_ it. And that image goes a long way toward diffusing a lot of his anger toward the engineer.

"Just fix it," he orders, blinking hard as he drags his gaze away from the hand in front of him.

"Fine," she agrees. "But I ain't the only one with fixin' to do."

He sighs in frustration. She's not _wrong_ , but it's also not as simple as she seems to think it is. He's got no idea where to start. He's not even sure it's possible.

"Captain…"

It's a testament to exactly how much he's living in his own head these days that he hadn't even registered someone else's presence in the hall. That kind of level of awareness with his mask on would leave him dead. But, to be completely fair, Inara's very, _very_ good at being noticed on her own terms and he's fairly certain that she'd wanted to watch the entire exchange unnoticed.

"Inara," he greets, hesitancy and tension coming off of him in waves as Kaylee turns on her heel and makes her way back to the engine room, shutting the door behind her.

"Do you have a moment?" the companion asks, head tilted to the side with a composed smile.

He _really_ doesn't trust that smile. Probably because he knows her fairly well.

"Go ahead," he says, bracing himself for whatever insight she's about to drop on him.

"Somewhere more… private, perhaps," she suggests.

He grimaces, aware that this conversation is going to be exactly as bad as his instincts warned him it would be. But dodging Inara will only make things worse in the end and he knows it.

He grunts, apparently adopting Digg's recently diminished conversational skills, and tilts his head to indicate she should follow him. If he's going to be subjected to Inara's brand of wisdom, he's damned well going to do it on his own terms, so he steers them toward his rarely-used office.

It was his father's office once. Truth be told, in his head it still is. No retrofit or aftermarket upgrade will ever change that. Ghosts live in this room. Normally, he avoids their haunting presence, the ways they claw at him, pull him back to the darkest reaches of space. Today, he finds that ambiance useful. It's a reminder, unwavering in its grip on him, that this will always be a part of him. That he will never be the kind of man who can live his life for himself. His mission doesn't allow that.

It can't.

But Inara doesn't see the ghosts. They don't linger here for her, though he's sure she has plenty of her own that he's not privy to. Her gaze is calculatingly curious as she takes in the details of the room, cataloguing it all in her well-trained mind, weighing what every single element says about him.

On second thought, maybe taking her here was a _bad_ idea.

"How are you Oliver?" she asks finally.

"Tired of my hot water not working in the shower," he responds immediately, leaning back against the huge desk.

"Kaylee can be a bit precocious," Inara offers up with an affectionate smile. "And she's very protective of the people she cares about."

"I can appreciate that," he says tightly. "But it doesn't make my shower any less cold."

"No," she agrees with a light, musical laugh. "It wouldn't."

He says nothing, mostly because he'd really rather not have whatever this conversation is at all. But he watches while she runs her fingers along a line of his father's books on the shelf next to her, tilting her head as she skims the titles.

"It was very cold for you for a very long time, wasn't it, Oliver?" she asks finally, having the grace not to watch his reaction as she speaks.

"What's your _point_ Inara?" he asks gruffly.

She looks to him, weighs her words carefully before she speaks. She always has. Inara is the type of person who says exactly what she means to, nothing more and nothing less. Once upon a time, he had liked that about her very much. She was clever and well-spoken. She'd fit in well at high society functions on Tommy's arm, polite and charming but cunning. It had been oddly endearing.

Now, she just reminds him unsettlingly of his mother.

"My point," she says finally, "is that you aren't _there_ anymore. You're not living in your father's home either. And you're hardly doing yourself any favors by forgetting that."

He glares at her in response and grips the desk with white-knuckled fingers, his nails digging little crescent shapes into the soft wood on the underside of its lip. .

"I know exactly where I am," he bites out.

"Do you?" she asks, equal parts curious and challenging. "Sometimes I wonder."

"You, of _all_ people, are well aware of the way people's life experiences can change who they are," he counters.

"Oh, Oliver," she sighs, looking at him with sad eyes and a pinched smile. "You haven't changed all that much."

He blinks rapidly at that. There's a lot he might have expected to hear from Inara, but he hadn't expected her to be so blatantly _wrong_. Of course he's changed. He's the _Arrow_ these days, not the partying playboy of yesteryear. He is nothing like he once was. If there is one thing he's certain of, it's that.

"Everything you did, every word you said before you were lost was for your father," she tells him. "To get his attention, if not his approval. But men like him don't give much of themselves to others. Believe me. I know. And now he's gone, but you're still here and Oliver… you're still stuck in this endless cycle of trying to make him proud."

"Are you done?" he manages, fuming under the weight of her painfully sharp insight that he'd much prefer the ability to deny outright.

"I'm not sure I've made my point yet," she answers.

"Then do it and get out," he bites back harshly.

"You have _always_ been fixated on living up to your father's expectations of you. But you never once stopped to demand that he live up to _your_ expectations of _him_ ," Inara tells him with piercing certainty. "You have always been the better man, Oliver. As someone who has spent a great deal of time on the outer planets these last few years, I appreciate all you've done to try and curb the chaos. But as your friend, it hurts to watch you dedicate yourself so wholly to some imagined debt borne of unreachable standards."

"He _died_. For _me_ ," Oliver snaps.

"Maybe," Inara agrees. "But that doesn't change that he lived for himself."

"So your point is what?" Oliver challenges. "That you think I'm pushing Felicity away because I've got _daddy issues_?"

"I think you're pushing _everyone_ away because you don't feel entitled to let them in. And that you're refusing to live because your father didn't," Inara clarifies with uncharacteristic bluntness. "I never mentioned Felicity."

It takes a moment for him to rewind the conversation in his head and play it back to realize that she's right. The subtext was there, of course. There had been no doubt that his fractured relationship with Felicity was the unspoken elephant in the room, but it had been him who had pointed it out.

"Your father loved you, but he showed it in such shallow ways. It was always so secondary to his own self-interests," Inara says. "He was like that with your mother, too. You both deserved better."

"And you gained all of this insight into my family from… what? A few galas on Tommy's arm?" Oliver challenges.

"You and I both know it was more than that," Inara counters levelly.

She's right. It had been. Tommy had been quite taken with the young companion right from the moment he'd met her, barely after her graduation from the academy. He'd monopolized a great deal of her time and spent heaps of his father's money to keep her at his side as often as possible.

By all appearances, it had been a fairly typical business relationship between them. But Oliver had known better. He'd watched his friend's eyes light up whenever Inara had walked into the room. He'd seen the way her smile had been just a _bit_ more genuine around Tommy, the way she hadn't had to force a laugh. Tommy had talked more than once about trying to hire her exclusively for a long-term arrangement. Oliver doesn't know if he ever got up the nerve to do it, though. He was always so worried about ruining the arrangement they already had if she said no.

"You _do_ have a type, don't you," he asks, both feeling cornered by Inara's words and guilty for his train of thought.

"...Excuse me?" she asks, freezing in place.

"Self-deprecating, easygoing troublemakers," Oliver elaborates. "Tommy's dead. Mal's not. So why don't you tell me, Inara - since you're so _keen_ with your insight - what it is that's keeping you from living _your_ life."

She doesn't move at all, but the look on her face is briefly incredibly pained for the instant before she schools it to her usual mask of serene indifference. If Tommy were here he would lay Oliver out for such a low blow. And it knows it. It's enough to make him regret his hasty words, but it's not enough to get him to apologize for them.

"I think we're done here," she says with forced pleasantness that nearly comes off as genuine.

"Inara…" he starts, guilt washing over him.

"Thank you for your time, captain," she says, a clear and overly polite goodbye.

She turns and hurries to the door, her smooth, silk gown flowing about her like water as she moves. But when the door opens and she goes to step through the threshold, she walks smack into Mal as he tries to enter the room.

"Woah," Mal says, steadying her by her elbow. "Hey now. Any closer together and I might owe you somethin'."

Oliver winces at the crude implications of the other captain's callous words. It's not the first time since they've come aboard that the man has made some kind of crass comment about Inara's career. It's defensive. He _knows_ it is. Inara surely knows it too. But that doesn't make it any easier for her to hear.

Especially right now.

She steps back from Mal and while Oliver can't see her face, the look on Mal's is a clear indication to the ferocity of her features. He very much looks like he accidentally walked into a lion's den and can't quite figure out how to escape.

"Do you know what I found most telling about everyone's memory loss?" Inara asks sharply.

"Uh… I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess it wasn't Jayne's apparent love for babies," Mal says uneasily.

"It was how _kind_ everyone was," Inara replies as if he hadn't spoken at all. "How much cruelty and disrespect disappeared when all our memories were stripped away. If you could retain one thing from that experience, _captain_ , I'd suggest it should be how to retain a civil tongue."

She brushes past him without awaiting a response. Mal looks equal parts confused and somewhat afraid to breathe.

"Bad timing," Oliver offers as soon as the door is shut again and Inara is well out of earshot. "Not the best thing to say to her, either, but a lot of that was bad timing."

"We really gonna talk about the right things to say to people?" Mal asks with raised eyebrows. "Cause that ain't a conversation I'm wantin' to have and I'm thinkin' you ain't much in the way of wantin' it either."

"Please no," Oliver says, shaking his head with a sigh before rounding his desk.

"That what she was here for?" Mal asks curiously.

"Yes," Oliver grumbles, collapsing heavily into his desk chair and scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Way I see it, your personal life ain't no one's business but yours. Can't say as it's right everyone harping on what all happened when you didn't know any better," Mal tells him.

"Thanks," Oliver responds gratefully before sighing and looking back to the man. "What did you need to see me about."

"Just ah… wanted to let you know Jayne's in the med bay s'all," Mal tells him.

"... _Why_?" Oliver asks after it becomes apparently that Mal isn't about to elaborate.

"Well, Sara finally got through to the League. Ain't them whose after the alpha-omega, by-the-by. An' they seem surprisin'ly upset 'bout the notion of someone killin' off a bunch of folks for a group callin' themselves the League of Assassins," Mal notes.

"I'm still not seeing how this ended up with Jayne in the medical bay," Oliver tells him flatly.

"See Jayne's a bit of a… how can I put this delicately," Mal muses, his fingers resting on his chin while he thinks. "I can't. Jayne's a prick."

"That had not escaped my notice," comes Oliver's dry response.

"He's also the sort who thinks with his mouth on account of we're not actually sure he's got himself a brain," Mal adds.

"What did he say?" Oliver asks.

"He mighta caught wind of the notion that Sara and Nyssa are a few steps past friendly and he mighta had the idea that he oughta make some inventively dirty comments about it," Mal shrugs.

Oliver blinks at Mal for a moment as the picture of exactly what happened solidifies in his head. It takes a moment because - really - it's sort of hard to believe that even _Jayne_ is that stupid.

"He made crude comments about Sara and Nyssa _in front of Sara_?" Oliver asks bewildered.

"That's about the long and short of it, yes," Mal nods.

"How badly did she hurt him?" Oliver questions.

"He'll live," Mal shrugs. "He's got some bits gonna need icing for quite a while but I'm pretty sure she bruised his ego harder than anythin' else."

Oliver mulls that over for a moment. On one hand, that's a surprising amount of restraint for Sara and he's not sure he blames her for finally beating the crap out of Jayne. God knows he's wanted to on more than one occasion. But on the other hand it sets a terrible precedent and he really can't have his crew fighting each other outside of the sparring mat.

"I'll talk to her," Oliver resolves with a sigh.

"That really necessary?" Mal asks. "Not for nothin', but if Jayne had gone sayin' things like that to me, I'd've shut his mouth for him, too."

"Me too," Oliver admits. "But I can't run my ship like that. You know that. You wouldn't let it slide either."

"I shoulda shut it down faster," Mal admits. "I know Jayne well enough to see where that was headed. Ain't no power in the 'verse gonna shut Jayne's trap for him."

"Except maybe Sara," Oliver adds.

"Just might," Mal agrees. "Doc was debain' wiring his jaw shut while he heals."

"That's… more than some ice," Oliver winces.

"Some o' that's just Simon wantin' to shut him up as bad as the rest of us. He's bad. Broke his jaw for sure, but he ain't in _that_ bad of shape. Coulda been worse," Mal says.

"Than a broken jaw?" Oliver asks, fully aware of precisely how awful that is from firsthand experience..

"Coulda been Nyssa insteada Sara," Mal points out knowingly.

Oliver tilts his head in acknowledgement at that.

He's not wrong.


	19. Chapter 19

Thea Queen has never much been interested in her brother's revolving door of a love life. He's her brother and - you know - _ew_. She's barely even paid attention to his girlfriends for _years_. There hasn't seemed to be much of a point. Not since Laurel, really. Back then, she'd been young enough to idealize everything. Laurel had looked like a princess to her adolescent eyes and whispers of a Cinderella story romance had rung in her eavesdropping, curious little ears.

She'd sort of missed that the two of them hadn't really been anyone's idea of a fairy tale.

These days Oliver's more Beast than he is Prince Charming, but Thea thinks that might be okay in the long run. For all the grungy clothes and grease stains when she's fiddling with the inner workings of the ship, Felicity's still _way_ more Belle than she is Cinderella.

Okay, so Thea might be a bit of an idealistic romantic still at heart. _So sue her_.

Still… for all of her usual tendencies to speak her mind no matter the cost, she hasn't interfered in this whole mess between Felicity and her brother. Call it growth. Oliver would probably be proud if he weren't such a damned mess at the moment. But it's been five days since he's gotten his memory back and Oliver is so short-tempered, so miserable to be around, that she's increasingly thinking she has to do _something_.

Talking to Oliver isn't an option right now. She and her brother both inherited the Queen family bull-headedness and her stubborn ass of a brother clearly isn't going to listen to a word she or anyone else has to say at the moment.

So… Thea goes another way.

She has to ask Kaylee where the engine room even is. Thea has never been much for learning about the inner workings of ships. She's fully aware of how impossible grease stains are to get out of clothes, thanks. But for this, she'll make an exception.

For all of her strangely uncultured manners that _scream_ outer rim, Thea finds she likes Kaylee Frye quite a bit. The other girl is sharp, outspoken and generally unwilling to take shit from anyone, all of which Thea respects about her. It doesn't hurt any that she's clearly on the same page as Thea is about this whole Oliver and Felicity mess. Though, it _does_ take Kaylee a few minutes to figure that out.

That's fair, really. She _is_ Oliver's sister. And her loyalty lies with him.

Kaylee's eyes narrow at her in suspicion when she asks where she can find Felicity and Thea rolls her eyes dramatically in response.

"My brother's being an idiot," she says flatly. "And this situation has gone on long enough."

It's sort of remarkable how quickly Kaylee's wariness gives way to delight, a cheery grin overtaking her face, her eyes twinkling delightedly.

"Thea Queen, I gotta say I like where your head's at," she says brightly. "Nice to see you got loads more sense than your brother."

While she's aware that in Kaylee's opinion that doesn't take much at the moment, it still makes Thea preen a bit internally.

More importantly, though, Kaylee points her towards Felicity.

To the best of Thea's knowledge, Oliver and Felicity have seen each other only once in the last five days. A chance meeting in the dining room where Felicity had walked in and promptly turned around and walked out again upon finding Oliver already there. Her enormous lunkheaded sap of a brother had stared with stupid longing all over his stupid face even after she'd disappeared for a solid two or three minutes before unceremoniously dumping what was left of his meal and stalking off with his head hung.

 _Man_ she wanted to smash their heads together. Or maybe lock them in a room together until they figured this whole thing out… Hmmm… that idea had merit.

For now, though, she needs to feel out where Felicity is at. Is she still really mad or is she more hurt? Is she still hoping he'll tell her he's made a mistake or has she given up?

In the end, it doesn't even take a single question to figure out exactly what Felicity's feeling.

Thea walks into the engine room and finds Felicity staring at something in the palm of her hand with the most mournful look she's ever seen. It only takes a fraction of a second for Thea to recognize her mother's ring… _Felicity's_ ring.

Thea clears her throat and Felicity visibly jumps.

The blonde's hand clenches shut almost reflexively and she looks to Thea with embarrassment and wariness painted across every bit of her face.

"Thea!" she nearly squeaks. "What… are you doing here? I mean it's your brother's ship. So you _can_ be here. Obviously. You're allowed here. Just… did you need something?"

"You carry it around with you?" Thea asks, completely crushing any notion that Felicity hadn't just been caught staring at the Queen family engagement ring.

"I…" Felicity starts, blinking at Thea before she looks back down to her own hand, her fingers uncurling from around the diamond ring. "I'm sorry."

"For _what_ exactly?" Thea asks a little bewildered. "If you're apologizing to me for still caring about my brother after everything he's done, you really don't need to. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as a superpower at this point."

"No, I... " Felicity starts before clearing her throat, some kind of resolve settling itself in her as she looks back to Thea with determination.

"This is yours," Felicity continues, holding her hand out with the priceless heirloom perched on the middle of her palm. "I should have given it to you right away. Oliver wanted you to have it. That's why it was on his dresser in the first place."

Thea looks at the ring for a moment. Her mother's ring. She can remember playing with it on her mother's hand as a little girl, twisting it around and watching it sparkle as Moira Queen had read her stories of knights who slayed dragons and princesses who saved their own kingdoms. She has a lot of fond memories tied to that ring. It is so intertwined with memories of her mother. But that ring was never meant to be hers.

And she knows it.

"It doesn't belong to me," Thea tells her, making no move to take the ring from Felicity.

The surprise on Felicity's face is incredibly obvious. And, _really,_ Thea is going to have to give her some training on schooling that sort of thing if she ever does actually become a Queen.

"What?" Felicity asks, head turned to the side slightly as she stares with big eyes and a furrowed brow at Thea. "No, it is. Oliver was going to give it to you. He told me."

"Maybe," Thea agrees, stepping forward and curling her fingers around Felicity's until the blonde's hand is clasping the ring again. "But he _did_ give it to _you_."

"Thea…" Felicity says with a pained look. "I shouldn't have this. He doesn't want me."

Maybe it's ungraceful, but Thea full-on snorts at that. Felicity pulls a face in response, looking a little offended.

"I'm sorry, but if that's what you really think then you haven't been paying attention at all," Thea replies.

Felicity knows better. She does. The look of her face screams it. Her lips are pinched together and her cheeks are pink as she stares down at the ring in her hand. She just also needs to simplify things in her mind to protect her own heart.

The level of sympathy Thea feels for the other woman actually surprises her.

"Why were you looking at it?" Thea asks her gently.

"I, ah…" Felicity shakes her head and gives a humorless laugh as she looks back to Thea. "I need to remind myself that it was real, sometimes. That it wasn't just a dream. I didn't even know I could be that happy and now… it just seems so far away."

"I've never seen him that happy either," Thea tells her. "It was nice to see he could still smile so openly."

"I don't think Oliver places much importance on happiness," Felicity replies with a little huff.

"Maybe not his _own_ happiness," Thea says pointedly, "but I'm pretty sure yours matters to him a lot or he wouldn't be such a pain in the ass right now."

"I can't make him choose to be with me, Thea," Felicity tells her, reading through the lines of why she's there. "And I wouldn't if I could. That has to be something that he wants for himself or what's the point?"

"Fair enough," Thea agrees. "But, you two need to talk. _Soon_. Because something has to give. You're both miserable and avoiding each other clearly isn't working. This can't keep going like it is."

"You're right," Felicity agrees, staring at the ring for another moment with a far-off look before shoving it back in her pocket. "It can't."

* * *

Things are… if not _better_ , exactly, somewhat more settled in recent days. At least they seem that way to Oliver.

Yes, he's still in a seemingly endless bad mood. Yes, he's sleeping horribly. And, yes, he misses Felicity's presence with an ache that's actually physical. But he's snapping less at people who really don't deserve it and Digg is mostly back to using words to communicate with him and, even though Sara still won't spar with him, Zoe will. That's given him a much needed outlet for his frustration.

Between that and the salmon ladder he's been climbing for the last half an hour at least, he's almost exhausted enough to the point where his mind is calm. But, it would probably help even more if they had any solid leads on who was after the alpha-omega.

The League and the Bratva had yielded nothing. Oliver had used some… less than _savory_ channels to rule out the Triad, too. Mal had managed to confirm it hadn't been Niska, though it really didn't seem the sadistic mob boss' style anyhow. Weirdest of all, though, was Wash establishing that Mr. Universe hadn't heard a whisper about the alpha-omega.

Now _that_ gave Oliver pause.

In fact, the only thing approaching a lead that they had at all was Badger. It had taken more money and frustration than Oliver really wanted to admit for them to find out there had been a supply of GBK stolen from a Blue Sun warehouse on Bernadette two weeks prior. It didn't take a genius to see that it had been ARGUS' own supply that had been filched and _that_ makes this entire mess gutsier and scarier.

Who the hell has the nerve to steal supplies from ARGUS to _attack ARGUS_ with? He doesn't know and that in and of itself is sort of terrifying. But he's caught up enough in his own thoughts that it takes him a moment to realize Felicity's in the gym, too.

And she's not running off.

At least not immediately.

"Hi," he ventures, hanging from the top rung while he stares at her like maybe she's a mirage that will fade away as soon as acknowledged.

She doesn't. And she doesn't leave either. But the smile he's come to think of as his - the sort she only seems to grace him with, that seems infectious and sends his heart racing as fast as any workout - is nowhere to be seen.

"Hi," she replies, her voice clipped and fast.

It's the first word she's said to him in five days. Maybe now ' _Screw you, Oliver_ ' will stop playing through his mind with quite so much frequency.

"Do you have a minute?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself and barely allowing her eyes to dart toward him at all.

It's a stark contrast to her _usual_ reaction to finding him on the salmon ladder and it just serves to underscore how very much he's messed things up between them, how very changed they are and how much he hates it.

"Yeah," he says, dropping down to the floor and grabbing a nearby towel to scrub over his face, wiping away sweat and giving him a second to think.

She's staring at her toes when he finally drops the towel to the side and looks back to her. She seems so small like this. It's strange. She's usually so larger than life. He forgets how tiny she really is. But now… she's small. And it feels wrong.

"How, uh… how've you been?" he asks, taking two stilted steps in her direction before making himself stop and bringing his hand to the back of his neck so that he's touching _something_ because he can't touch her.

She gives a one shoulder shrug and looks back up at him.

"Sara's a good roommate," she says after a second, in what has to be the least descriptive answer she could possibly have given.

A week ago, she'd have rambled. A week ago, she'd have been _honest_. But now, he's made her miserable and she won't even confront him with that. This new awful reality forms a lump in his throat and puts a stone in his gut and he can't do anything but wonder how the distance between them can get any further.

"I'm sorry," he says, feeling every single syllable as he says it but fully aware that no matter how genuine he is, she's not going to take his apology well.

He's right. The look she gives him is completely incredulous.

"For how I handled everything after," he clarifies quickly, which is met with wary acceptance. "I'm not good at… any of this."

"You don't say," she deadpans.

The tiniest of smiles tugs at his lips at her words. It's the closest to normal he's felt in what seems like forever.

"I miss you," he confesses.

He realizes the second he says it that it's the worst thing to say to her. It's selfish in the worst sort of way. He saying exactly what she wants to hear, but meaning it entirely differently.

"This was _your_ choice," she reminds him, her words hard enough that he feels the weight of them as she speaks.

"I know," he agrees, nodding as he sighs through thinned lips. "I know. I just… wish everything could go back to the way it was. Before."

"Before?" she asks, staring at him with guarded eyes.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Before the GBK?" she clarifies.

"Yeah," he says again, rubbing his fingers together in a nervous twitch because he can't seem to find anything to do with his hands.

This time, he's not entirely sure _what_ he's said that was so wrong, but her face looks entirely crushed all over again and all he wants to do is fix things. Why is this all so hard? Why does he _make_ things so hard?

"Right," she nods, muttering under her breath. "Of course."

"You're my…" he starts before he realizes he doesn't have a word for what she is to him.

Friend doesn't seem strong enough. Partner might imply the wrong thing in these circumstances.

"You're important to me," he says instead. "You make me… I haven't felt like myself these last few days without you around."

He's not saying this well and he knows it, but there's a delicate line he's trying to walk and it's _hard_. He needs her. He does. He just doesn't have any idea how to express that in a way that fits with his life.

"I don't understand how you can hold on and push me away at the same time," she says quietly, shaking her head. "You have to stop. You can't… _say_ things like that or look at me like… like _that_ , actually, and then choose not to be with me. It's not fair."

"My life doesn't allow me to be with someone I really care about," he tells her. "But I don't know how to stop caring about you."

"Well, figure it out," she snaps, rubbing at her nose like maybe she's trying to keep from crying.

"Can't we just… go back to how things were before?" he asks a little desperately.

"Oh my god, Oliver," she laughs brokenly. "Back to when? When we repressed the hell out of everything and lived in a constant state of denial? That doesn't work anymore. It didn't even really work then, but it's _pretty hard_ to deny there's anything between us after the last week, don't you think?"

"Felicity-"

"No. _No_ ," she insists sharply, pointing one very blue nail in his direction. "Just in case you thought maybe I didn't mean it before, I _love you_. I love your heart and your drive to help others and the way you smile and the way you say my name. I love everything about you except for this need you have to keep me at arm's length. So, just so we're very clear, that's why we can't go back to like things were before. Because I'm completely in love with you. And I know you're in love with me. And I'm done pretending like that's not true."

"Okay," he says softly after a moment. "You're right. That's not fair."

"Damned right it's not," she says fiercely.

"So what do we do, then?" he asks her.

"I have no idea," she replies.

It's an unsettling answer.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures her.

"Yeah," she agrees, but it sounds like a lie when she says it.

"Was there… when you came in there was something you wanted," he prompts her.

"Yeah…" she says a little quieter than before, uncrossing her arms to dig through her pocket for something. "I needed to give this back to you."

He doesn't know what he expected, but her holding out the ring in her palm wasn't it. His stomach drops. The last thing he wants is to take that ring back. Every part of him rails against the notion.

"You should give it to Thea," he says roughly, staring at her outstretched hand.

"I tried," she replies. "She wouldn't let me."

"She wanted you to give it back to me?" Oliver asks, trying to figure out what his sister is up to.

"She wanted me to keep it," Felicity replies to his great surprise.

His gaze flies up to catch hers, his eyebrows undoubtedly rising at her words. Thea is meddlesome, no doubt about that, but she's never taken an interest in his love life. That she's interfering now is more than a little surprising.

"She _did_?" he asks, momentarily wondering if he heard her right.

"Yes," Felicity says, discomfort obvious in her shuffling feet as she continues to hold the ring out for him to take. "She said you'd given it to me so it was mine now."

He wants to agree. To tell her that Thea was right. That it is hers. That any part of his heart he has to give away already belongs to her. But his love for her is all sharp edges and he's so tired of hurting her.

In the end, though, either his face gives his thoughts away or Felicity knows him well enough to guess at his thoughts, because the look she gives him is softer, weaker and she pushes her hand further in his direction.

"Take it, Oliver," she urges. "I can't keep it. Not now. Not like this."

She's right. And even though there is no part of him that wants that ring back, he takes it. It's only after he does that he realizes her eyes are locked on his left hand where he's still wearing his father's ring.

Her gaze lifts to his and she stares at him like she's trying to read his eyes.

"You need to figure out what you want from me so I can figure out if it's something I have to give," she says after a moment before turning to leave.

If only he knew where to start.

He spends most of the rest of the day trying to figure it out, but it feels like an impossible situation and all he can hear is her voice in his head saying she loves him. It's worse than the 'Screw you, Oliver' that had been on repeat in his head. Because Felicity looking him in the eye and telling him she loves him… it pulls at something in him and he feels like he's unravelling.

His thoughts consume him enough that he misses dinner entirely, only realizing the time when he stops pacing and looks up from the wedding band he's been spinning around his finger for who-knows-how-long to find Mal standing awkwardly in his doorway.

"Was open," the other captain says, nodding his head toward the door. "You got a sec."

"Sure," Oliver says, looking forward to focusing on anything other than Felicity for a moment. "Come on in. What's going on?"

"You… ah, you might wanna take a seat first," Mal suggests.

He doesn't.

" _Why_?" Oliver asks, suddenly on guard.

"S'just… I feel compelled to remind you that I am voluntarily comin' to you with this all unarmed and friendly like," Mal says, holding up a palm in a peaceful gesture. "So, no shootin' the messenger, if you please."

"That depends very much on the message," Oliver bites out.

Mal winces.

"I feel like that bodes poorly for my immediate future."

" _Mal_ ," Oliver growls warningly.

"K, so the thing of it is, Kaylee and Felicity came to see me a bit ago," he starts.

"About what?" Oliver asks, blinking at the other man.

"'Bout tradin' places for a bit once Serenity's back in the sky," Mal tells him.

It's like a hull breach in the room, the way the air sucks out of his lungs and the blood drains from his face. The words rattle around his head like a ricocheting bullet and every bit as painfully. He wants to believe he heard the other captain wrong. He wishes it made less sense than it does.

"What?" he manages in a quiet voice.

"Wanted to give you a heads up, s'all," Mal says in a voice that borders on sympathetic.

"What did you tell them?" Oliver asks.

"That it ain't up to me, seein' as it ain't just my ship involved," Mal tells him. "But no cap'n in his right mind's gonna turn down a chance to have someone of your girl's skillset aboard for a bit."

She's leaving him. She's _leaving_ him. The realization settles over him as cold as any of the showers he's had to take lately. Even if Mal says no, if she wants to leave, he has no hold over her. He's made sure of that.

God, he's such an idiot.

"Excuse me," he mutters, barely audibly as he hurries past Mal toward Sara and Felicity's room.

He has to do something. And he has to do it now.


	20. Chapter 20

His feet get him to Felicity and Sara's room faster than they should and he has no idea what he's going to say. His head's a mess of ' _please don't go'_ and ' _you can't leave'_ and ' _I love you so much it's killing me_.' Sometimes he thinks she doesn't have any idea exactly how much pull she has on him. He hasn't wanted anything for himself in so long. Not since he snuck Sara aboard his father's ship and they took off on that ill-fated voyage with a sabotaged engine and a rewired navigation system that took them straight into reaver territory.

He wants _her_. He wants to wake up with her hair in his face and to watch her grumble adorably as she tries to go through her morning routine that leads up to coffee. He wants it so badly that it hurts. And he needs her, in some capacity, in _any_ capacity, even if he doesn't feel entitled to have her in his life on the terms he really wants.

But this… this is a big step in the wrong direction.

With as jumbled and torn as his thoughts are, it's probably a good thing that Felicity's not actually in her room. Sara is, though, and she reads his harried expression perfectly. Her lips curl in a sympathetic, pinched smile and she sighs at him before he even says a word.

"Where is she?" he asks, because that's really the only thing in his brain at the moment.

"Sit down, Ollie," Sara tells him.

"I don't have time to-"

"We are in the middle of space. She's not going anywhere at the moment and you're going to do more harm than good if you talk to her the way you are right now," Sara points out. "Sit down. Take a breath. Be glad she wasn't here. You need to figure out how the hell you're going to fix this before you find her."

It's like the energy saps right out of him at her words. She's right - Sara _usually_ is - and he feels defeated before he's even found Felicity.

He drops into a chair, deflating and covering his face with both hands, his elbows planted on his knees. The sigh he lets out is bone-deep and weary, sounding every bit as desperate and overwhelmed as he feels.

"All the enemies you've got in the 'verse and your worst one by far is yourself," Sara sighs.

He looks up at her, dragging his hands down his stubbled cheeks to steeple against his chin.

"I can't lose her," he tells Sara.

"You can," she replies with a regretful wince. "And I think you need to acknowledge that you might. You've pushed her so far, Oliver. Everyone has their breaking point. Felicity's seems like it's further than most, but she still has one."

"How do I fix it?" he asks, looking at Sara like she's got all of the answers because he needs them and god knows he doesn't have them himself. "How do I make this better?"

"You already know the answer to that, Ollie," she tells him in her take-no-bullshit tone that he is incredibly familiar with. "You just don't like it."

"I don't know how to stop loving her," Oliver replies. "I wish I did."

" _That's_ what you think you need to do? God, Ollie... " Sara sighs, rolling her eyes. "You kill me. You really do."

"She deserves better than me, Sara," he tells her. "You know that better than anyone. Everything I've gone through… everything I've done... I don't see how I could be good for anyone. I don't know how to make someone happy."

"Well you sure know how to make someone miserable," Sara points out in a way that twists the seemingly ever-present emotional knife in his gut. "I'd say try doing the exact opposite of what you're doing now. That might work."

"Sara," he starts, "with everything that I've-"

"No, Ollie… so, she makes you want to be better. That's hardly a bad thing," Sara tells him. "Don't you think you do the same thing for her?"

And that… actually gives him pause.

"If you don't think that you drive her, give her purpose to do more, do _better_ things with her life, then you don't know her half as well as you think you do," Sara continues. "She doesn't love you in spite of everything you went through, Oliver. She loves the man you became because of them. And I want you to think about how lucky you are to have found that at all before you give it up, because the likelihood of you finding that again is slim."

Felicity's one-in-a-million. He already knows that. He doesn't need Sara to tell him. But the rest of what she says… it sinks through the cracks in his resolve and he looks at Sara desperately wanting to believe everything she's saying.

"If you keep pushing her away… you can tell yourself that you're doing this for her, but you're not," Sara tells him. "You're doing this because you're afraid. And you're not a coward, Oliver, so stop acting like one."

"What... " he stops to clear his throat and rework the words that seem stuck there. "If we were… together… how does that effect the mission? How do I focus on saving the 'verse if I'm distracted by how I feel about her?"

"Are you trying to sell me on the idea that you're not distracted by her _now_?" Sara asks incredulously.

"No, that's… I am," he admits. "I just… if I'm happy, if I'm with her, how do I keep doing all of this?"

"How did you do it when we were together?" Sara asks him, curiosity shading her voice.

"That's different," he replies immediately.

"Of course it is," Sara replies. "I'm not Felicity and what we had was very different, but the same principle applies."

"I'm not sure it does," Oliver counters, his voice slow and cautious.

"Why's that?" Sara asks.

"Because… we were together in the moment," he supplies, thinking his reasons through as he speaks. "I don't think we ever really looked ahead."

"And with Felicity all you see is the future," Sara realizes aloud.

He nods, sharp and fast in response. He doesn't look at Felicity and see the rest of the day. He looks at Felicity and sees the rest of his life. She makes him dream and there's a danger in getting attached to dreams he might never be able to realize. His right to a future - any future - is far from a sure thing in his line of work.

"You love easily, Oliver. And you love fiercely. Me, Laurel, Shado. I know you loved us all," Sara tells him. "But not one of us made you want to be a better man. Felicity does. She makes you want to _live_. And, since you seem to want my two cents here, I think that's the part that scares you because you still don't really believe that you're entitled to anything more than survival for the sake of your cause."

Maybe she's right. _Probably_ she's right.

"As for how you do this if you're with her… it just gives you more drive to get home in one piece," she tells him. "At least that's been true for me with Nyssa. Being happy, being in love, it just reminds you what it is you're trying to save the 'verse _for_."

"And when I don't come home from a mission one day? When someone gets the drop on me… what happens then?" he asks.

"Then she's devastated," Sara concedes. "But she would be if you died right now, too. So stop making both of your lives miserable now just because you're afraid you might be miserable at some point in the future."

Her point is undeniable, even though some very basic part of Oliver finds it difficult to accept. But rationally he knows she's right. He can feel the weight of the truth in her words as they sink into his skin.

And maybe it gives him a better idea of what exactly to say to Felicity.

"Where is she?" he asks, voice soft and pleading.

"She's in the server room doing maintenance, but if you screw this up I'm not the one who told you where to find her. Got it?" Sara asks.

"I'm not going to screw it up," he says as he stands with newfound resolve.

Sara's answer of "good" rings in his ears as he leaves the room and makes his way down the corridor, past the medical bay and the escape pods toward Felicity's server room all the way in the back of the ship. Every step he takes makes him more certain that he's on the right path.

He loves her. And she deserves so much better from him than he's given so far.

She deserves laughter and joy, happy sighs and lazy early morning kisses. He's not sure he can give her all of that, but _god_ he wants to try.

His heart pounds in his throat by the time he reaches her server room. The door is open and he can see her inside, fiddling with some circuitry while she crouches with a red screwdriver held between her teeth. Her hair has half fallen out of her ponytail and her glasses keep slipping down her nose. Her clothes are rumpled and there's a smear of grease back near her ear and he doesn't think anyone has ever looked more beautiful to him.

The thought of her leaving, of not being able to walk through his ship and find her like this at any given time, it sends a chill through his bones that terrifies him.

But she's here now.

He has a chance _now_.

"Hi," he says softly, making her jump.

The screwdriver clatters to the ground and she barely catches herself against the edge of the server before falling. When she looks up at him it's with wide eyes and a rounded curve to her lips. He wants to kiss the look of surprise right off her. Though, that would probably be a terrible way to begin this conversation. Or a fantastic one, possibly, but he's not willing to risk it.

"Oliver!" she says, standing and brushing her hands over her pants to smooth out some of the wrinkles. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he says, darting his tongue out to wet his slightly chapped lips. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah I… Yeah," she agrees, watching him warily. "What did you want to talk about? I sort of thought we'd covered everything earlier."

He slips his hands into his pockets, swallows heavily and looks at his toes to compose himself before looking back up at her.

"If you need to go… if I've pushed you too far already, I want you to know that I understand," he starts off.

She blinks hard, a spot of color rising in her cheeks as she runs her tongue along the edge of her teeth.

"Mal told you," she realizes with a puff of air breezing through her lips. "Of course he did. Oliver… I didn't want you to find out like that. I was going to tell you. It's not forever. It's just… we're in such close quarters here and I think we could both use some space for a bit."

"I don't want space," he says quickly, taking a couple of steps towards her before forcing himself to stop, clenching his hands at his sides to keep from touching her.

"You do, though, Oliver," she laughs, voice bitter and fragile. "You just only seem to need it emotionally."

"What if… what if I didn't?" he asks, gulping hard and searching her eyes for a reaction.

"I can't live my life by 'what ifs,' Oliver," she tells him, voice laden with regret. "You are who you are and I love that man but that doesn't mean I can stay. I can't."

"Felicity… please… please don't leave me," he begs, sounding rawer than any time he can remember. "I know I don't have any right to ask that of you and if you need to go, I will find a way to accept it, but… please."

"Oliver… I'm not leaving _you_. You already left _me_ ," she tells him sadly. "You just can't see that."

"I haven't," he promises. "I'm _right here_. And I'm so sorry. I know I've made this hard on you. I've made us both miserable. And you don't have to forgive me. But if you'll let me, I'd like to try to fix this."

"What are you saying, Oliver?" she asks, looking horribly like she's bracing herself for another letdown.

He hates that he's driven her to this point. He never wants to be the reason for that look on her face ever again.

"I'm saying you were right," he tells her. "I'm saying I am so in love with you that it scares the hell out of me. But you're worth being scared over because I look at you and I see everything I want but never thought I could have. And I can't lose you. I'm tired of apologizing. I want to stop making reasons I have to."

There's a long moment where she looks at him. The air feels thick in his lungs and his pulse is frantic enough that it thunders in his ears. Everything blurs but her. He feels like every hope he has for his future, for any modicum of happiness, rests on her reaction. But, ultimately, it's not the one he was hoping for.

Her face twists with some mixture of longing and disbelief and her eyes water as she bites her lips together.

"No," he says before she has a chance to speak, his voice choked and gritty and so very raw. "No, I mean it. I _mean it_. Let me prove it to you. I will. I swear."

"Would you be saying this now if I weren't leaving?" she asks.

Her tone clearly says she already knows the answer and it's not at all what she wants it to be.

"...I don't know," he admits against his better judgement because he refuses to lie to her.

"God, Oliver," she says, looking skyward and brushing at her cheek as a tear slips down it.

He can't help it. He has to touch her.

One swift step forward puts him firmly in her personal space and she gasps aloud as his hands cradle her face, his thumbs brushing away tear tracks even as more water spills from her eyes. He presses his lips to her temple as he murmurs senseless calming things into her skin.

The familiar scent of her shampoo washes over him and his hands shake as the skim across her cheeks and he whispers ' _I love you'_ and ' _I'm sorry_ ' against her skin. He feels at home for the first time in nearly a week, but he's also keenly aware that her reaction doesn't bode well for him being able to keep that feeling.

"You _have_ to stop doing this to me, Oliver," she says, her voice begging even as her face nuzzles back against his. "I can't take it anymore. I just _can't_."

"I have stopped," he replies, stroking her hair back from her face and pressing his lips to her forehead. "I've stopped."

"You're not doing this because you want to. You're doing this because you found out I'm leaving," she chokes out. "And, Oliver… that's not good enough. I can't have you settle for being with me just because you decided it was better than losing me entirely."

"That's what you... " he pulls back a few inches to look her in the eyes. " _That's_ what you think? Felicity, I… You leaving might have forced me to realize some things faster than I would have otherwise, but there is no universe where being with you is anything other than what I want most. You have to believe that."

"Do I?" she asks, putting her hands over his where they've settled against the back of her neck like she's going to pull them away but not following through with the action. "After everything you've thrown at me so far, do I _really_ have to believe that?"

She's right, he realizes as his heart drops. She isn't privy to the struggle that's been going on in his heart and he's given her no reason to believe him. So… maybe he needs to.

"Okay," he agrees. "Okay, so I'll prove it to you."

"How?" she chokes out. "How do you prove that?"

"With time," he tells her. "Felicity, I am going to be here, loving you, wanting you, no matter where in the 'verse you go. If you go with Serenity once they're up in the air, that's your choice. If you need that time, I understand. But I will wish you were here with me every moment of every day. And I will remind you of that every chance I get until you believe me."

"Oliver-" she starts, shaking her head as her eyes water anew.

"We've done this - or _not_ done this - on my terms for entirely too long," he continues. "So whatever you want from me, that's what you'll get. I've figured out what I want from you, so now it's your turn to figure out if it's something you have to give."

"And what's that?" she manages. "What is it you think you've figured out you want from me?"

 _Everything_ is on the tip of his tongue. He wants her to move back to his room and stay there. He wants to put that ring back on her finger knowing full well what he's doing. He wants to get the 'verse to a place where he feels like he can hang up his bow. He wants to buy them a house, somewhere between the rim and the central worlds, with rooms they fill with laughter and joy and the pattering of little feet as years go by. He wants forever. It's what he's always wanted with her. He just hasn't been able to admit it to himself.

But she isn't ready to hear any of that. So it's not what he says.

"I want to hold you," he tells her simply. "And I don't want to let go."

For the first time in days, he's said the right thing.

"I really want to believe that," she whispers back.

"I want you to, too," he replies. "And I'm going to keep telling you… no I'm going to keep _showing_ you, until you believe me. If you'll let me."

She bites her lip and nods, the movement is slight but it's enough to give Oliver a surge of hope he hadn't dared believe would come moments before.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, knowing full well that he's pressing his luck.

"Oliver," she says, her tone warning and incredulous.

"Please?" he asks. "Just once."

"You think we could keep it to just once?" she asks, sounding almost amused.

One of his hands lets go of her neck and he brings it around to trace the line of her lower lip with his thumb, watching in fascination as her lips part a little and her breath hitches at the motion.

"I think I love you and respect you enough to draw the line wherever you want it to be," he replies finally.

She's very quiet at his words and when his gaze drifts from her lips up to her eyes it's like she's appraising him anew and she's somewhat awed by whatever she sees.

"Once," she agrees.

"Once," he echoes as he closes the distance between them.

He pours every ounce of how much he cherishes her into the kiss. It's soft, a restrained press of his parted lips to hers as he holds the sides of her face and breathes in her gasp. He's content to leave it at this, a lingering melding of breath as he quietly worships the press of her lips against his. She, however, apparently isn't. She grabs the collar of his shirt with both fists and steps into him, slanting her mouth against his and pressing it to him more demandingly.

If he lets out a whimper as she tugs gently at his lower lip with her teeth, he's not even embarrassed by it.

She leaves him breathless, aroused and emotionally raw. He feels stripped bare by it when they part and she stares up at it. It's the most vulnerable he can remember feeling in years, maybe ever. She holds his entire heart in her hands and, from the look on her face, it seems like maybe she's just starting to realize that.

"Oh," she breathes quietly, "Oliver, I-"

But whatever she's about to say is lost as the ship jolts suddenly and it's his instinct alone, cradling her head, that keeps her from slamming her temple into bank of servers.

"What was-" she starts, looking startled as he kicks into Arrow-mode instinctively.

"Hold on to something stable," he says sharply.

She does. She holds on to him.

The ship jerks again followed by an alarm and Oliver's blood runs very cold at the sound.

"That's the hull breach alarm," Felicity says, echoing his thoughts.

"Come on," he orders, keeping a hold on her as they step over a toppled server and into the hallway, barely making it through the door before another jolt hits the ship and another server falls right where they'd been standing.

"Oliver!" she says sharply, nodding down the hall.

The emergency pressure seal doors have shut and a steady hissing noise rings in Oliver's ears, terror coiling low in his gut.

"Grab an emergency kit," he orders her, shoving debris out of the way while he seeks out the place where their atmosphere is rapidly escaping into empty space. "We need the hull patch _now_."

She scrambles to grab the kit just as he exposes the tear in his ship and his heart drops further. It's too big. It's way too big for a patch and their air is seeping out of the room faster than they can cope with.

"Forget it," he orders, standing up and grabbing her hand, tugging as he walks.

"Oliver, what-"

"The escape pod. We need to get out of here now," he says keying a code into the wall panel and pulling her inside with him.

"We're under attack, Oliver!" she points out. "That's not debris hitting the ship. That's missiles!"

"That's why we're not going to undock," he tells her, sealing the door to the pod behind them as they enter. "Use the comm system to connect to Digg."

She nods firmly, fingers dancing over the keys with practiced ease until Digg's face shows up on the comm screen.

"Little busy at the moment," Digg says, wincing as he jerks the ship sharply to the port side.

"Everyone okay?" Oliver asks.

"No idea," Digg replies. "Kaylee's in the engine room. Zoe and Mal are manning the guns and Wash is on his way up to back me up, but I've got no idea about the others. Where are you?"

"Escape pod," Felicity replies. "We were in the server room. There's a hull breach in the hall."

"Who's attacking?" Oliver demands.

"Dunno," Digg replies. "But they're good. They're very good. Oliver… we can't take much more of this."

"Run," Oliver orders as Felicity watches him.

"Man, we do that and we're gonna lose that whole section of the ship you two are on," Digg tells him.

"I know," Oliver replies.

"The hell I'm doing that," Digg counters.

"We lose the aft or we lose the ship," Oliver points out. "It's an easy call, Digg. Now get the hell out of here."

"Not doing it," he replies.

"As your captain, I'm _ordering_ you to _go_ ," Oliver growls.

"Well then consider this a mutiny, _captain_ ," Digg snaps back.

"Felicity, eject the pod," Oliver tells her, changing tacts.

"Don't do it, Felicity. You'll be a sitting duck out there!" Digg counters.

She looks at Oliver, but even before she does, he knows what she's going to do. She's always been practical and she's always been protective of the rest of the crew.

"Better two of us than all of us," Felicity says after a moment, punching in the eject sequence.

" _God damn it, Felicity!_ " Digg growls.

" _Go_ ," Oliver commands again. "You're in charge until we get back. Get free. Repair. Regroup. Then come back and find us when it's safe."

With that, he cuts off the comm link and straps in with Felicity at his side as the escape pod jettisons away from the ship.

He grabs her hand and holds on tight. They're in for a bumpy ride.


	21. Chapter 21

There's no time to be scared.

Their problems are too immediate for something like fear to have any place in the moment.

Oliver's at the controls, pulling the escape pod away from their ship while she scrambles towards a panel that's actually sparking and - _wow -_ is that a bad sign. They work like a well-oiled machine together, though, like partners, each fully confident in the other one's ability to do their job.

She knows when to brace herself for a sudden turn just from the mild noises of frustration he makes. He reaches under his seat with his free hand to grab a tool kit when she mumbles a ' _where the hell_ is _it_?' under her breath.

Any less in tune with each other and they probably wouldn't have survived the first two minutes.

"Felicity, the port thrusters," he says, pulling at the only partly-responsive controls futilely.

"I know. I'm doing what I can, Oliver!" she replies, digging through a mess of sparking wires and damaged hardware and _wow_ was this pod going to need to be gutted entirely after this. Something shorts out right near her hand and the circuitry goes black as it smokes ominously. "Pretty sure we just lost the comms."

The ship jolts - not from Oliver's commands, probably from debris slamming into their hull - and Felicity pitches forward at the unexpected movement.

"Ow, _damn it_ ," she hisses as she slices a finger on something sharp in the inner workings of the ship.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice demanding and overly concerned considering the danger of their ship being impaled by shrapnel is very real and a cut on her hand is nothing in comparison, even if it is bleeding quite a bit.

"I'm fine. Didn't need all ten fingers anyhow," she replies offhandedly as she wipes the blood away on her pants and turns back to dig into the wiring again.

" _What_?" he asks, voice hard-edged with worry, and she looks up from her work to find him paying far too much attention to her, given the circumstances.

"It's just a cut. I'll live," she reassures him. "...assuming I can get the propulsion systems working correctly, anyhow."

"I think there's something lodged in one of the thrusters," he tells her with a wince.

And… yeah. That's bad. Like _bad_. They don't have an EVA suit to go outside and pull the debris out and even if they did, it's practically raining parts of the ship out there. At least Digg and the others seem to have gotten away, though. Verdant is nowhere to be seen. Neither is the attacking ship, now that she thinks about it. Had it chased them? It seems like it must have. Are they okay? Are they safe? She can't think about that right now, though. She doesn't have time for worry.

"How much control do you have?" she asks him.

"Not enough," he replies as something else hits their hull. "Not with just one thruster."

"We need to get out of this mess," she huffs.

"Any ideas?" he asks, desperation coloring his voice.

She gets up and moves away from the ship's circuitry. It's useless trying to fix the pod from here. Hell, it's probably useless trying to fix it at all at this point. The damage they've taken is heavy.

"We have one working thruster, right?" she asks, moving over to stand next to him and putting her uninjured hand on his shoulder as she peers to look at the controls.

"Yes, but I think something hit the fuel line," he grimaces.

He's right, she realizes, watching the fuel gauge. She blows a heavy little puff of air through her lips as she thinks. They've been in tougher spots than this… probably. But this is definitely up there.

"So we're losing fuel, we're down to one thruster, we have no communication system and the hull may be compromised," she summarizes.

"Sounds about right," he agrees, looking up at her.

"Our nav systems are intact though and for now so is life support," she points out.

"I'm not sure what good the nav system does with one working thruster," he notes.

"I'm trying to be glass-half-full here, Oliver," she says.

"Felicity, I think the glass is broken," he remarks with a humorless laugh.

"So forget the glass," she says, eyes darting back and forth as the beginnings of a plan cement in her mind. "We don't need the glass. We need the water. ...We're the water, in case that wasn't clear. The glass is the ship. I know sometimes my metaphors get kind of-"

"Felicity, I got it," he assures her, looking vaguely amused in spite of the situation. "So we need somewhere to put down and some way to get there."

"You work on the where. I'll work on the how," she tells him, leaving his side to go dig through a bag someone had left on the pod after its last trip.

"What are you looking for?" he asks.

"Ideally? Some kind of explosive," she tells him.

"...I think I heard you wrong," he says slowly.

"Yes!" she shouts, holding up an exploding arrowhead triumphantly. "Thank you, Roy, for not cleaning up after yourself!"

"Your level of excitement over explosives is a little worrying," he tells her. "Especially considering we're in a pretty small, confined space."

"You can still point the pod, right?" she asks, suddenly realizing that her plan hinges on that idea and she's not even sure it's possible.

"For now," he agrees. "But I'm not sure what good that does. It's like aiming an arrow with no bow string."

"So we don't shoot the arrow," she tells him. "We throw it instead."

"Okay, this time I'm not with you on the metaphor."

"What we need is propulsion, right?" she asks. "A good swift push that doesn't send us spinning in circles."

"I'm not going to like where this is headed, am I?"

"We blow the water tank to give us a push and you steer us somewhere we can put down," she finishes, biting her nail nervously as she realizes exactly how insane this plan actually is.

He winces and makes a pained noise that tells her he really hates this plan but doesn't have a better one.

"And if the explosion is bigger than you think or too close to the internal part of the pod?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"Well, then we die," she admits. "I never said it was a perfect plan, Oliver."

"And all the debris between here and the nearest planet?" he questions.

"Yeah, that's gonna be bad. I can't lie," she agrees. "At best it's going to be a very bumpy ride. But we can't stay out here indefinitely with no fuel, one thruster and a seriously compromised hull."

"This was… definitely not how I'd planned to spend my evening," he says with a sigh.

"How _had_ you planned to spend your evening?" she asks immediately.

The look he gives her sends her stomach into flutters and her heart pounding because… _oh_.

"That depended a lot on how our conversation went," he says after a moment.

Right.

Now is totally not the time to think about that or its many spine-tingling implications. Because right now she's got to figure out how to make a controlled blast to send them through a mine-field of debris to crash land on a planet and save their lives.

No pressure.

"Felicity," he says, getting up from the pilot's seat, where there's really not much he can do right now anyhow, and walking over to her. "Even if this goes perfectly… we're leaking fuel and we won't have any way to control how fast we are at impact. There's every possibility we could blow up or break apart in the atmosphere."

"So… out with a bang then," she says, biting her lip as she fidgets.

"We can stay here," he offers, pushing her hair behind her ear and letting his palm linger against her cheek.

"It's no safer, Oliver," she replies, leaning into his hand a little and savoring the feel of his fingers against her skin. "And if we don't get ripped apart by debris or blow up in the vacuum of space, how much food do we have? How much water? What if the air filtration system goes next?"

"It's bad any way we look at it," he admits.

"At least we're together," she says before her eyes go wide and she starts to backtrack. "Not that I'd wish this on you. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but especially not you. I mean, heavily damaged ship about to crash land on a planet? _That's_ got to bring back memories. Or… if it didn't before, it does now. I'm _sorry_ , I didn't mea-"

She's cut off by the press of his lips to hers and her rambling dies instantly. It's searing, searching and so full of longing that it makes her brain short out as surely as the comm systems on the pod. She could lose herself in this, in him, so very easily. In spite of her reservations, he kisses her like she's everything. He kisses her like he _means_ it. He kisses her like he never wants to stop. And she's seriously in danger of melting under the heat of the way he kisses her.

"We said once," she protests, dazed and dizzy as they part and he stares at her like she's the only thing worth noticing.

"I figured that probably doesn't apply in the face of imminent life-or-death situations," he tells her, looking a little sheepish.

"Because those are unusual for us?" she asks, not really feeling the chastisement she's projecting.

The half-smile and one-shouldered shrug he gives in response is stupidly adorable and makes her feel like she's melting all over again.

"Tell you what," she proposes, before she gives herself a chance to really think about what she's saying, "no more kissing me in life-or-death situations. Kiss me when we've gotten through them instead."

There's an inner fire in his eyes at her words that makes her shiver in anticipation. Delight and arousal shoot down her spine to pool low in her belly as she takes in his reaction, his pupils blown wide as he stares at her mouth like he's using every ounce of willpower he has to stop from utterly devouring her.

She's increasingly wondering what in the world made her think she'd be able to hold out with Oliver actively pursuing her. She's terrified that he'll fall back to old patterns, decide he's made a mistake. But, _god_ , she doesn't have the strength to push him away when he's finally not holding her at arm's length anymore.

"Deal," he growls, sending another shudder through her.

He notices. She knows he does. The way he effects her is obvious. Just his voice, just his _eyes_ , send a ripple of goosebumps across her skin and set her whole body on edge.

His gaze traces down her body slowly, unashamedly taking note of every curve with hungry eyes. If he's trying to convince he really wants her, he's doing a damned good job of it. The lust in his eyes is utterly undeniable and the little muted groan he gives as he watches her nipples tighten through her blouse only serves to emphasize it further.

"Get us on the ground," he orders roughly.

She licks her lips and nods fiercely, untrusting of her voice.

 _Man_ does she hope they live through this.

Felicity is far from an expert on explosives, but she _does_ know the escape pod inside and out. She knows how it works, where its weak points are and what makes it tick. She knows just where to _put_ an explosive to guarantee the water tank blows outwards and - hopefully - gives them the kick they need to get somewhere safe. Or, well… saf _er,_ anyhow.

"I think I've got it," she says after about ten minutes of rigging the arrowhead into a really crude makeshift bomb.

"You _think_?" he asks, concern obvious in his voice.

"I'm as sure as I'm getting," she replies. "It'll work. I'm… almost positive."

"...Okay," he allows after a moment, nodding like he's trying to build up resolve. "Okay. Let's do it then."

"You found somewhere in range?" she asks.

"Yes," he winces. "I don't love it, but it will have to do."

"What's wrong with it?" Felicity asks concerned.

"Nothing," he says quickly. "It's just… I had some bad experiences there once. It's… cold."

"Was this before Lian Yu?" she asks, glancing at the control panel and trying to figure out exactly where they are.

"Not… exactly," he replies, to her confusion. "It doesn't matter, though. It's just a place to land while we wait for Digg and the others to rescue us. Hopefully our homing beacon is still functioning."

"I zippered it in the lining of Roy's coat," she tells him, earning a look of surprise. "So it doesn't get damaged in the crash and so that if we have to leave the ship, they can still find us. I'll wear it. There's no way it's going to fit you."

"Okay," he nods. "Okay… so after you set the charge, how long until it blows?"

"About forty seconds," she replies.

"I'll do it," he announces.

"What? No," she says shaking her head. "Oliver the placement is very important and this whole bomb thing is jerry-rigged anyhow. You need to be ready to control where we're headed if it blows early."

She's right. She can see from the way his jaw tightens in frustration that he knows it, too.

"I will be right next to you buckled in before it blows," she tells him with a solid intensity that she hopes sounds more certain than she really is. "I promise."

"You'd better be," he replies, equally intense.

"I will be," she promises again, settling her hand against his jaw in a gentle touch.

It surprises her how much of an effect she has on him, now that he's not trying to hide it. He shuts his eyes against her touch and turns his head to kiss the inside of her wrist, breathing out a sigh of tension and worry at the stroke of her fingers.

She hasn't much doubted that he's had feelings for her for months. She hasn't doubted that he's in love with her for the last week. But the magnitude of exactly how much impact she has on him… that surprises her. The intensity of attraction when he opens his eyes and stares back at her surprises her, too. It sets her on fire and the burn is all encompassing.

"Do it," he tells her and she nods, turning toward the back of the escape pod.

She stops when he grabs her wrist though, tugs her back.

"Grab Roy's pack and stuff any survival gear you can find in it first. We'll need it," he tells her.

 _Right_.

Because even if this works they're going to crash land on a barely-inhabited, extremely cold moon for who knows how long.

She squeezes his hand before letting go and working her way back to sift through the few supplies they have. An emergency medical kit, one thermal sleeping bag, a lighter, a knife, a pistol with one clip, some rope, two flares, three arrows, a thermos of water, some freeze-dried only-eat-if-you're-starving meals and two possibly… _probably_ dirty outfits of Roy's. It's not much, but it could be worse and at this point she's thankful for any upsides she can find.

All of it fits inside Roy's pack, the sleeping bag rolling up and attaching easily to it's outside, and she puts the pack on before heading toward the escape pod's water tank access point.

"You ready?" she calls out.

"Ready as I'm getting," Oliver shouts back.

"Brace yourself," she orders, unscrewing the air-tight seal to the water tank and reaching in with the bomb in hand.

It takes a moment of fiddling about to find the back wall of the tank, the place where it's closest to the outside of the ship. Truth be told, her arms are barely long enough and she almost drops the bomb twice. But she doesn't. She gives a little cry of triumph as she affixes it to the back wall.

"Felicity?" Oliver calls out, concern echoing in his voice.

"Forty seconds!" she cries back, flipping the switch on the bomb and pulling her arm out.

She screws the lid to the tank back on as quickly as she can. It takes far too long, but it's vital. If it's open when the tank blows… there goes their air. She struggles with the cap, her fingers slippery from the water and her grip weaker than she'd like.

"Felicity! NOW!" Oliver shouts at her.

He's right, she decides. It's as tight as it's getting.

She dives towards the seat next to Oliver, tripping over her own feet and barely grabbing the chair before the blast hits. The _only_ thing that keeps her from tumbling over the seat is Oliver's incredibly firm hold on her waist as the ship lurches.

" _Steer_ ," she orders him, reaching for the empty chair.

This is their chance - their _only_ chance - and he can't waste it worrying that she might accidentally slam her head against the dash or something equally mundane.

"I am," he counters, using one hand to guide the ship as best he can while it propels at an alarming rate.

If she'd had _time_ , if she'd had _resources_ , she could have calculated this all better. But she hadn't even had a firm grip on how much water the tank _had_ and the blast was terribly make-shift and none of that matters now because it's done and all she can do is hold on and pray while they barrel through errant debris toward the nearby moon.

"Oliver…" she says, her voice edged in warning as a large piece of debris drifts near them.

"I see it," he answers, shifting the pod as best he can.

It's jerky and rough and it throws them slightly off course as they narrowly miss the enormous piece of metal. They do, though. They miss it and the moon is rapidly becoming larger in front of them as they pass the bulk of the debris.

It's a victory, but it's also terrifying.

"Are we too fast? I think we're too fast. We feel too fast," she says quickly.

"We are," he confirms as his eyes skim over the controls. "Hold on."

"What are you doing?" she asks, immediately following his orders and gripping the edges of her chair with white-knuckled fingers.

"Slowing us down," he answers.

The ship spins suddenly under his commands. They're still barrelling toward the moon, but she can't see it now. He guns the one thruster they have with the little bit of gas that's left, pushing against the momentum they worked so hard to gain.

"Will this work?" she asks, more than a little terrified as the weakened hull groans under the strain of conflicting force.

"It has to," he answers.

His words aren't comforting, but the determination in his voice is. He's lived by sheer force of will before. They'll do it again.

"It will," she decides aloud, threading her fingers through his hand that isn't commanding the dying vessel. "It _will_."

He looks at her with longing as the little ship hits the moon's atmosphere and the stars start to fade away through the rapidly developing haze of blue sky. He seems far less sure all of the sudden and she wonders how much of his certainty was faked for her benefit.

"If it doesn't…" he starts, ignoring the now-useless controls in favor of her.

She squeezes his hand tightly and uses a finger on her other hand to place over his lips.

"It _will_ ," she says, more certain than before. "Because I refuse to believe we've had our last kiss, Oliver Queen. There's more to our story than this."

He kisses the tip of her finger, placed so gently over his lips, and she sucks in a quick breath in immediate response.

"Looking forward to the rest of it then," he says with promise.

She wants to respond, something smart and hopeful and a little suggestive, but their impact with the ground cuts her off as they plow into the snow-covered terrain.

Her seatbelt digs in painfully and she'll have horrible whiplash for days. Oliver cries out in pain as part of the bulkhead breaks off and slams into his left arm. The windshield shatters, bits of glass raining down on both of them, little shards slicing her arm and the side of her face.

But, after what feels like just this side of forever, the escape pod comes to a halt.

She holds her breath for a second, hesitant to believe that it's over, but when nothing happens after several too-fast heartbeats, she looks to Oliver with hope and relief.

"We made it," he says, sounding almost surprised.

"We did," she laughs. "Oh my god, we _did_."

The pungent smell of gasoline stains the air and it strikes her suddenly that while they've surely passed the first hurdle on their quest for survival, it's hardly the last.

"The gas is still leaking," she says. "We need to get out of here. The ship could blow. How badly are you hurt?"

"Not bad enough to keep me from walking," he tells her.

He's trying to cover the side of his leg with his hand, though, and he's doing it poorly. She's not having it. She touches his hand, tugs it away and finds a sizable shard of glass lodged in his thigh.

"Oh _Oliver_ ," she winces.

"It's nothing," he counters. "I've dealt with much worse. We can take care of it later. I can walk. Now let's get out of here."

She nods, something she quickly regrets because her neck _hurts_ when she moves it. But, injuries or not, getting out of the escape pod is the best idea she's heard in a long while.

"Let's do it," she agrees, unbuckling and moving from her seat to force open the twisted hatch, revealing the snowy world outside.

* * *

 **Author's Note -** Any similarities between their propulsion technique and The Martian's were unintentional, but I was probably subconsciously inspired by it. Someone pointed out that they had quite a bit in common and they're definitely right. So, credit where it's due. It's an awesome movie and probably a fantastic book and likely played a part in inspiring how Oliver and Felicity worked out their problem here.


	22. Chapter 22

It's not Lian Yu.

It's not even _close_ to Lian Yu.

But the moment Felicity forces the hatch open and reveals a world of bitter cold and untamed wilderness, some part of him is right back on that hellish planet. It's like a switch inside him flips. He's back in survival mode. It's as easy as breathing for him. Natural. But the urgency behind it outstrips anything in the past.

It's not just his survival he's fighting for.

The smell of gasoline is much stronger with the door open and there are wires sparking behind Felicity in the open control panels. They're both keenly aware of precisely how dangerous that is.

"Come on," she says, holding tightly to the backpack of supplies she'd gathered before.

Those supplies are a great start - better than he had on Lian Yu, for sure - but it's not enough.

He gets up, rips the seat cushion off of both of their chairs and yanks a fist full of wires straight out of the useless communication system.

"Oliver, what-"

"Later," he tells her, handing her a cushion and grabbing her free hand as he tugs her along with him, exiting the hatch.

He takes note of everything in an instant.

Snow. Lots of snow. Tall trees, many of which their escape pod had felled in its descent. A half-frozen lake nearby that they were very lucky not to crash into. Lights tinting the sky in the distance along the horizon. They're far. Oliver would much prefer they were further. But that's a less immediate concern.

"There," he says, nodding towards a sizable outcropping of rock not terribly far away. "That's the best cover in case it blows."

"Oh," she says, sounding a little surprised as they trudge through the heavy powder.

She can't move as fast as he'd like. The snow is deep, past her knee, and the ground is very uneven. He's practically dragging her by the time they get to the rock and she's already out of breath. He notices absolutely nothing of his own discomfort. Not the cold, not the way his pants are soaked through from the snow, not the shard of glass sticking out of his leg. He's working on pure instinct and adrenaline, muscle memory doing the work for him.

"Keep yourself pressed up against the rock and put the cushion over your head," he tells her, voice sharp as he crowds her against the rock and his eyes dart around to reevaluate their surroundings.

"What?" she blinks at him.

She follows his instructions instantly, though, even through her confusion. She trusts him, even if she hasn't quite caught on yet. This is not normal for her. She's used to server hubs and computer screens and hot coffee, not scavenging parts from wreckage to help her survive.

"In case there's debris that gets past the rock when the pod blows," he tells her, eyes boring into her as he speaks. "Keep it over your head."

"Oh... " she breathes out, looking both better clued in as to what his concerns are and a little lost at her new reality.

He hates that she has to go through this. He doesn't want this for her.

"Shouldn't you have your back to the rock, too?" she asks.

He licks his lips and can't keep her gaze as he looks around at the wilderness again.

" _Oliver_ ," she stresses, putting a hand on his cheek and turning his head back to face her. "Are you seriously trying to block my body with yours?"

He winces. She's entirely too intelligent sometimes.

"Oliver!" she yelps, realizing she's right. "You can't-"

"There's no use in both of us being exposed, Felicity," he tells her simply.

"If you think that sacrif-" she starts.

But she's cut off by an incredibly large bang. Years of experience have honed Oliver's instincts and he curls his body around hers protectively, crowding her against the rock and leaving no part of her body exposed.

The blast is substantial. He can feel the heat of the gasoline-fueled explosion licking at his skin, twisted bits of metal flying through the air overhead and to either side of the dubious safety of their rock-outcropping. Felicity shrieks, a sharp, terrified little noise and he grips her hands over the top of the cushion she's holding above them, mostly just to remind her that he's _there_.

He's hesitant to believe that it's over when the heat seeps away and they're left with just the crackling noise of a nearby fire. Felicity, however, clearly has no such reservations. She practically shoves him backwards in an effort to put a little distance between them so she can look him in the eye.

"Are you okay?" she asks, surveying him for new injuries with worry in her eyes.

"I'm fine," he tells her.

"Do not _ever_ do that again," she tells him, her voice low and trembling as she stares at him with fierce eyes.

Honestly? It's scarier than her loud voice. But he's not the type to scare easily.

"I'm not promising that," he counters.

"Oliver!"

" _No_ ," he says with decisiveness and an inner fire that he's almost sure shows through if the way she startles is any indication. "No. I will _always_ do everything I can to protect you."

"And what would I do if something happened to you?" she asks, her voice filled with challenge.

Like _that's_ a valid argument.

"What the hell would I do if something happened to _you_?" he counters.

"Oliver, you'd be fine," she says, rolling her eyes. "You don't need me. You're the one with survival skills, not me."

That… really hadn't been what he'd meant. The way he blinks and suddenly can't look her in the eye must clue her into that because there's a very quiet ' _oh_ ' from her a moment later.

"Oliver…" she says gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's fine," he says. "We can… talk about this later, if you want. We're wasting time."

"Wasting time?" she asks, blinking at him. "Isn't that pretty much what we're doing until Digg and the others get here?"

"Felicity, we don't even know if they survived the attack," Oliver points out, loathing the words even as he says them. "And assuming they did, assuming they get free of whoever was attacking us, we know the ship has very heavy damage. We have no way of knowing if they're space-worthy or how extensive the repairs they need are. It might be a few hours before they rescue us or a few days or weeks or never. We have to prepare for the worst."

Clearly, these thoughts hadn't occurred to her. Her face falls and nervousness shades her features. He wishes he could chase those shadows away, tell her everything will be fine, but he can't lie to her. He never could.

"They're fine, Oliver," she says after a moment. "We have to believe that. _You_ have to believe that."

Just the idea of that not being true slices through him like a knife. Digg. Sara. Roy. _Thea_. The idea that maybe they're gone, maybe he'll never see them again - never see his sister again - is utterly gut-wrenching.

"We need to focus on us," he says, blinking back images that his traitorous imagination supplies of debris and bodies in space never to be put to rest. "It's the only thing we have any control over. Okay? We worry about our survival. And if… if it goes on for a while then maybe we come up with a Plan B."

"We won't need one," she says firmly. "They're coming for us."

"Okay," he agrees, because she clearly needs to hear it. "Okay, we're going to assume that's true."

"Damn straight," she nods, the jerk of her head far more sharp and unwavering than her voice.

"Do you think the explosions are done?" he asks her, realizing it's been awhile since he's heard so much as a crackle from the direction of their escape pod.

"I am not an expert at explosives - at least I wasn't before today, though I'm starting to question if I could reasonably add that to my resume about now - but based on the amount of fuel we had left when we crashed, I have to think that blast was all of it," she tells him. "If the fuel tank caught fire, that's it. Ka-blooey."

"Good," he says. "Pull the stuffing from that cushion and fit as much as you can in your jacket."

"What?"

"We need more insulation," he points out. "If it's this cold now, how cold do you think it'll be come nightfall?"

"You don't even have a jacket," she notes, looking at him worriedly.

"I'll stuff my shirt with some, too," he assures her. "That's why I grabbed two cushions. Trust me when I say that frostbite is not something I'd ever like to go through again."

He'd nearly lost two toes his first winter on Lian Yu until he'd killed a reaver who was still wearing shoes without holes in their soles. His excitement at stealing clothes off of a corpse had been a new low, at the time, but at least he'd saved his feet.

He doesn't want to think about that right now though. That darkness is, if not behind him entirely, somewhat faded these days. And it feels wrong to linger on such thoughts with Felicity there, looking at him like she's suddenly realized she's going to need his survival skills to stay alive.

"We're going to be okay," he tells her, placing his hands on both of her shoulders and looking her square in the eye. "Whether they come in an hour or they never find us, you and I will be fine. I'll make sure of it."

"Okay," she replies, voice quiet but trusting.

"Okay?" he asks again, just to measure her confidence.

"I trust you, Oliver," she tells him, biting her lower lip for a second as she pauses mid-thought. "This isn't exactly my idea of a vacation spot, but there are worse places we could have crashed. If you say we'll be okay, I believe you."

"Good," he says with a little smile at her. "Okay, get to work on those cushions. I'll be back before you're done."

"Wait!" she cries out, grabbing his arm as he turns to go. "What do you mean you'll be back. Where are you going?"

"Just back to the escape pod. There's some debris we might be able to use," he tells her, but it eases the worried line of her brow only a little.

"I promise," he tells her. "Just a few things and then we'll look for shelter. I have a plan."

And he does.

He's done this in worse conditions with a lot less supplies and no experience at all. Still… he hadn't had the woman he was rapidly beginning to think of as the love of his life with him at the time. That brings its own set of worries with it.

"Okay," she agrees warily.

"You have the flares?" he asks.

"Yes," she confirms, patting Roy's backpack.

"If anything at all happens, use one," he tells her, gravity weighing down his voice.

"Like what?" Felicity asks, looking around with newfound wariness.

"Like anything," he replies. "There's not much in the way of wildlife other than fish on this moon, but if you hear something you can't place or see a person or _anything_. Use it. I'll come running."

She watches him for a second before nodding, but briefly opens her mouth like she wants to ask something but is rethinking the idea. Ultimately, though, she's Felicity. She can't let a question sit unasked.

"Oliver… who is on this moon?" she ventures cautiously.

He sighs. He really hadn't wanted to get into this at all. Ever.

"We'll talk about it once we're safe, okay?" he asks. "We're losing daylight and we really need to find shelter."

"Okay," she agrees.

With that, he squeezes her hand before letting go and heading back to the remnants of the escape pod. He's slower heading back than he was heading away from the pod. There's slightly less urgency and now that the adrenaline is wearing off a little bit, he's more keenly aware of the pain in his thigh and there's plenty of debris to be wary of stepping on. He doesn't need a piece of metal in the bottom of his foot to match the glass in his leg.

The escape pod itself is completely destroyed. There must have been more fuel left than he'd thought because most of the panelling has blown clean off, leaving just the twisted remains of the pod's frame in place. It's a strange sight, knowing they'd been inside that thing in space not more than a half hour ago, but ultimately the level of destruction is actually sort of helpful. If was going to break apart, at least it broke apart into pieces he could use.

He sifts through the debris quickly, grabbing a long metal rod that's somehow managed to stay straight, three grated metal floor tiles, a flame-retardant tarp and a flat piece of metal that he thinks used to be the access door to the ship's circuitry. There are other things that catch his eye, but he doesn't want to take more than he's planned. Anything could be useful but it all has weight and becomes a burden to carry over time. They could have quite a walk ahead of them and their food supplies are very limited. He doesn't want to tax them any harder than he has to.

It's less than ten minutes before he gets back to Felicity and, in spite of the situation, he can't help grinning when he sees her.

"Don't you dare laugh," she warns him, holding up a finger.

"No, I'm not," he protests, through a grin. "I wouldn't dare."

"I look like a red snowman," she bemoans, looking down at Roy's very-stuffed jacket.

That's not exactly where his mind went, but it's probably the more comfortable comparison at this fledgling stage of their relationship.

"You look beautiful," he tells her. "And warm, which is even more important."

Her cheeks turn a little pink at that and he's fairly certain that it has nothing to do with the chilly air. He takes it as a victory. For all the times he's said exactly the wrong thing to her, at least he's gotten a few things very right today.

"I saved you some of my cushion," she tells him, holding out a piece of foam. "I couldn't possibly fit more in this jacket and you have a lot more body mass than me… by which I mean you're tall. And bulky. _Muscley_ , obviously. It's all muscle. As I am well aware… And I'm done talking right now."

He chuckles at her and shakes his head, charmed by her and utterly amazed that she can make him laugh at a time like this.

"Don't worry. I'll look like a gray snowman by the time I'm done," he tells her.

"It'll probably just look like more muscle," she sighs. "Why in the world did you go back to the pod for some hunks of metal? There's plenty near us, in case you missed the flying shards of metal death that went whizzing past us earlier."

"I needed specific things," he tells her, holding up his haul. "Any heavy loose rocks around here?"

"Sure," she says, pointing a few paces away to where a piece of the outcropping they'd taken shelter behind had broken loose in the explosion earlier.

"Great. That's perfect," he says. "I'm going to need your help."

"Okay," she agrees readily. "What are we doing?"

"Making snowshoes," he tells her.

She blinks at him for a moment from behind her thankfully-intact glasses, obviously having expected something, _anything_ else.

"...making snowshoes?" she asks.

"We don't know how much terrain we're going to need to cover," he tells her. "The floor grates will make decent snow shoes once we get them snapped close to size and they'll help us cover more ground."

"Okay," she nods, looking impressed enough that it inflates his ego a little big. "How do I help you make snowshoes?"

"I need you to be the counterweight," he tells her. "You stand on one side of the grate on top of that fallen tree there while I hit the other side really hard until it snaps off."

"Let's do it," she nods.

It takes a few tries and Oliver nearly slams his fingers twice, but ultimately they end up with four approximately foot-sized pieces of grate which he uses wiring from the ship to tie around their shoes. It's far from perfect. The weight is uneven and they're clunky, but they're surely better than attempting to trudge through knee-deep snow in the middle of the wilderness without them.

"What's the rest of it for?" Felicity asks, eyeing the other bits of metal with curiosity as he finishes tying a piece of wire around his foot.

"The flat piece is to attach the rope to and make a sled to carry everything. I'll make a speargun with the pole and the tarp is just a good idea," he tells her.

"You're going to _make a speargun_?" she asks.

"Sure," he agrees. "I can use the rod along with one of the arrows and the medical tubing from the emergency kit to make one. Until I can find the right materials for a bow, we're going to need something. A speargun helps with protection and with hunting. There's not much wildlife on this moon, but there are fish."

"You know… don't take this the wrong way, but if I have to be deserted in the wilderness on a icy moon with someone, I'm glad it's you," she tells him.

He grins.

"Well, if I have to be here, I'm glad it's with you, too," he replies.

"Oh _please_ , you'd be so much better off with Digg or Sara or Zoe," Felicity snorts in disbelief.

"They could help me hunt, but they can't make me smile like you can," he says. "You have no idea how important that is. And, Felicity, no matter what is going on, I'm always glad to be with you."

She sucks in a quick breath and her eyes skim his face in a way he's very recently learned means she'd very much like to kiss him. He _loves_ that look. But she doesn't do it. Not this time. Instead she bites her lower lip and smiles back for a moment before nodding.

"Okay. So next up is shelter, right?" she asks a moment later.

"Yes," he agrees. "We need to stay close to the lake for fishing, but ideally it would be good to find a small cave or at least somewhere we can avoid the wind that has limited access and an easy way to hang the tarp. But, we need to find it before nightfall and we're losing daylight fast."

She casts her gaze back toward the lake, in the direction of the setting sun, and he takes the moment just to watch her. She's beautiful and capable and intelligent and brave and she settles something in him just by being there. This could have gone very differently. He can imagine, had it just been him who'd crashlanded, having lost himself in memories of Lian Yu. He can imagine doing all of this on instinct and the basest drive for survival. This isn't that. He's still him. And he knows, in no small part, that's thanks to her.

She roots him. Grounds him. Reminds him that he's more than the sum of his experiences.

"What?" she asks, looking back at him and finding him staring.

He shakes his head instead of responding, not because he doesn't want to tell her what she means to him - he does - but because he's not quite sure how to put it into words. And, really, this isn't the time for that anyhow. So he skips the words, grabs her hand and kisses her fingers instead.

And, from the way her eyes smile as he presses his lips to her knuckles, he thinks maybe that was as eloquent as anything he could have said anyhow.

"I'm going to stuff my shirt," he tells her, letting her hand go. "It's getting cold."

" _Getting_?" she asks with a laugh. "Oliver, it's been below freezing since we got here."

He shrugs at that. He doesn't feel the cold as keenly as she does, he's sure of that much. He was always cold on Lian Yu. He sort of got used to it.

"While I do that, would you fill the covers of the seat cushions with snow?" he asks.

"Why?" she says. "I mean… _yes_ , I will. But why? It's not like there's a snow shortage, Oliver."

"No, but if we put it on the sled and bring it with, the friction from the sled as we drag it should create enough heat to melt into water," he tells her.

She nods slowly at that, clearing mulling over the science behind his idea and finding it sound.

"And the other metal grate? That's for cooking over, isn't it?" she asks.

"You've got it," he says with pride. "It's a whole lot easier to cook fish over a metal grate than it is on a stick. Trust me on this one."

"I will," she agrees.

He turns to grab the stuffing, which they've left resting on top of the makeshift metal sled to protect it from the snow, but he forgets about the glass in his thigh as he moves and he cringes painfully as he turns the wrong way.

"Oh, Oliver," Felicity sighs. "I'd forgotten. I don't know what I was thinking. We should get that patched up before we go."

"No," he disagrees. "We're going to need to sew it up. It's deep and I don't want to pull it out until we're somewhere safe."

He's keenly aware that the escape pod made no secret of their arrival to the moon. Even if someone had missed it's crash, the ensuing explosion and smoke that followed left a clear trail to their location. And besides, he's going to have to remove his pants to get at the glass he'd much prefer to do that once they are somewhere dry with a fire going.

"It's fine," he tells her, trying to mollify her worried look. "I've had way worse than this."

"That's less reassuring than you think it is, you know," she tells him, raising both eyebrows in his direction. "I mean you've had way worse than almost everything. Just because you've been through worse doesn't make this okay. It's not."

Every now and then, he swears he falls in love with her all over again.

"We'll patch it up as soon as we're safe," he tells her. "I promise. For now… fill those cushion covers with snow and I'll use as much stuffing as I can and we'll get going. Okay?"

"Okay," she agrees. "But for the record, this is the last camping trip we're ever going on. We will never go camping for vacation. Ever. We're going to warm beaches and big cities with lots of wifi access."

He's just stuck on the idea of them vacationing together _anywhere_ at some point in the future. The image of Felicity on a far more hospitable beach than this one, wearing a grin and some neon colored bikini… okay maybe it's a _private_ beach in his head. But just the thought of seeing her like that, being with her like that. It's enough that he doesn't notice the cold, doesn't think about the pain in his leg. All he thinks about is her and them and a future that's looking far less murky lately than it had before.

"Whatever you say, Felicity," he smiles at her.

He's pretty sure that's something he'll never get tired of saying.


	23. Chapter 23

Wind gusts off the partially-frozen lake, sending Felicity's ponytail whipping about her neck much as the snow does around their feet.

"How is it that Roy left a jacket _without_ a hood? I wasn't aware he owned any jackets without hoods," she says through chattering teeth.

Oliver hadn't known it either. The younger man practically _lives_ in his red hoodies, though, so at least this jacket is slightly heavier than his usual fare and it looks to be water-resistant. That's good. She'll need that. He's already regretting his morning's clothing choices, his grey henley doing next to nothing to keep him dry or warm, even stuffed full of seat cushion filling.

He's not all that worried about himself, though. She'd chide him for thinking it, but he's been through worse. He can go through this, too. But her… he's concerned for her. She's strong. He doesn't doubt _that_. He just also doesn't want her to have to test the limits of that strength. He's done things borne of desperation to survive. He doesn't ever want her to have to.

"Stop for a second," he says, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket.

Her nose and cheeks and ears are bright pink from the cold and she's shivering with her arms wrapped around herself. He can see her breath, sharp little puffs of fog hanging in the air. She has to be miserable. He _knows_ she's miserable. But wishing that she'd had a hood on her jacket is the closest thing to a complaint she's uttered in the hour or so that they've been walking.

"Are you okay?" she asks, instantly fixing him with a worried look. "Is it your leg? Do you-"

"I'm fine," he cuts her off.

That's not entirely true. His thigh _hurts_. It's the one spot he actually doesn't mind the numbing cold. But the pain has nothing at all to do with why he said they should stop.

"Then what's the problem? We probably have less than an hour of daylight left and we're got a lot of ground to cover," she points out.

"We can spare a minute," he tells her. "Come here."

"What?" she blinks at him from scarcely a foot and a half away.

"You're freezing, Felicity," he tells her, tugging her arm to urge her closer. "Come _here_."

He's careful of his leg, keeping it angled so that the shard of glass is pointed away from her, but he tugs her into his arms and wraps himself around her as much as he can, turning them both so that his back is to the lake.

They probably do look like two snowmen trying to hug. The stuffing in their jackets makes things a little awkward, but he doesn't care. He's still holding her, still offering him some of his warmth.

She rests her cheek against his shoulder, her icy nose brushing against the skin of his neck, and she moans out a little sigh against his skin that warms him in wholly different ways. He runs his thumbs along her sides, arms wrapped around her, cocooning her in his warmth as much as he can. A large part of him would like to stay like this. The warmth she gives him is more than physical and it surprises him sometimes how much he needs that. But ultimately, she'd been right.

They have to keep moving. Daylight is burning fast.

"Better?" he asks, loosening his hold on her a little to rub his hands up and down her back.

"Mmm," she agrees, still cuddled up against him.

The press of her lips against the skin of his neck is soft and cold. He's pretty sure she didn't mean for him to even notice she'd done it. But he does and his eyes slam shut as a shiver that has nothing to do with freezing temperatures runs through his body.

She's only just beginning to understand how much she affects him. He knows that. He spent a very long time trying to hide that from her, after all, but the look of wonder on her face when she pulls back slightly and touches his cheek with her cold little fingers, prompting him to reopen his eyes, still amazes him. Because how could she _not_ have known? Had she really had so little an idea of how much she's worked her way into the very core of his being?

He doesn't just love her. He loves who he is when he's with her. And that… that's something he'd never thought he'd have.

"Warmer?" he asks once his voice feels like it might work.

"Yeah," she agrees, smiling a little and biting her lower lip. "We should keep moving."

"We should," he agrees.

They part, but he grabs her hand and doesn't let go. She slips their joined hands into the pocket of the jacket and smiles at her toes as he rubs his thumb along the outer edge of hers. The cold can't reach him through the bright warmth of her smile. It isn't _that_ strong.

"How much further do you think to the rocks along the beach up there?" she asks after maybe twenty minutes.

"Probably half an hour or so," he replies, lips thinned into a grim line as he eyes the barely-there sunshine glinting off the ice-coated lake.

It's been slow-going. The snowshoes they made are invaluable, but awkward and, while he hates to admit it, his injured leg is slowing them down some, too.

"That's cutting it close," she notes, glancing at him.

She's right. Temperatures are dropping sharply and the fading sunlight causes its own problems. They have to stay near the lake, but one misstep onto thin ice and they're done.

"Think we can cut that time down any?" she asks, studying him with a sideways look as she speaks.

That's when he realizes she's been slowing her pace for his sake. His leg is worse than he thought.

"I'm not sure we should," he answers. "We can't afford to make mistakes out here."

"Okay. So what's our plan then?" she asks. "By the time we get there it's going to be too dark to find shelter."

"You said we have a lighter?" he asks, looking back at the backpack being dragged along on their makeshift sled.

"Yes," she confirms.

"We need a dry branch," he sighs, looking around them

"I don't think there's anything dry on this entire moon," Felicity says blankly.

"There's snow and ice everywhere," he agrees. "But that doesn't mean all of the trees are soaking it up. There's a dying evergreen up ahead. It should catch fire easier fairly easily."

"And if it doesn't?" Felicity asks, which earns her an incredulous look. "I'm not being a naysayer. Just looking for a backup plan in case the first one goes up in flames. Or, actually, in case it doesn't."

"We'll use a flare," he tells her after a moment.

"Is that really a good idea?" she asks, clearly wary of using their limited supplies.

"No," he says. "That's why it's a backup plan."

Ultimately, they don't need the backup plan. When they reach the sick tree, Oliver snaps a sizable branch off with relative ease and it lights on fire with no effort at all. They break off several extra dry branches of various sizes and load them up on the sled for future use, not knowing if they'll be lucky enough to find more dry wood as they go. This proves to be an excellent plan because it takes longer than Oliver anticipated to reach the rocky hillside to the south of the lake. It's pitch black by the time they get there and they've worked their way through two makeshift torches.

Their luck improves a little once they're there, though, as Oliver spots a nearly perfect camping spot for them almost instantly.

"There," he says, his pace picking up slightly at the sight of what he hopes will be their destination for the night.

Hell, if he's right, it could well be their destination for the foreseeable future.

The alcove isn't _quite_ deep enough to be considered a cave, but it's close. It's probably about the size of his room back on Verdant, anyhow. There's enough of an overhang to protect them from the snow that's just started to fall again and they're covered on three sides with a giant freestanding rock partially blocking the entry. And it's less than thirty feet away from the lake.

"Home, sweet home," Felicity murmurs as she looks around their campsite.

He barely hears her, all the pain he's ignored in his leg as they've walked seems to barrel down on him at once as soon as he's realized they're as safe as they're getting for the moment. He slides down against the back wall to the alcove, hissing in pain as he goes.

"Oliver!" she exclaims in alarm.

"It's fine," he protests, even though he's starting to feel a little nauseous from the pain.

"It's not fine," she argues, passion and concern fiery in her eyes. "Oliver… _god_ , you shouldn't have been walking on this."

"We didn't have a choice," he reminds her. "We couldn't do anything about it out there."

"Well, we can now," she bites out, turning toward the supplies on the back of their sled.

"We need a fire first or we're both going to end up with hypothermia," he tells her. "Just give me a minute to sit and I'll take care of-"

"Don't be ridiculous," she says, cutting him off. "You stay right where you are. I might not be some… some superhero survivalist, but I'm pretty sure I can manage to make a fire. And, honestly Oliver, if I couldn't before it would definitely be time to learn now."

She's right. If something were to happen to him… well, he needs to make sure she's got the basic skills to survive.

"Okay," he relents.

"And as _soon_ as we have the fire going, we're taking care of your leg," she insists.

He nods, neither inclined to argue with her on this point nor having the strength to do so.

"You'll need to bundle the tinder carefully," he tells her. "Building a fire in wet conditions is trickier than you'd think."

"Right," she nods firmly before staring at the pile of twigs, branches and loose bark in front of her for a moment. "Which part's the tinder again?"

And… _yeah_ , she's going to need a crash course in survival skills. This makes as good a first lesson as any, Oliver figures, and Felicity takes it exactly as seriously as she should. She bites her lips together in concentration while she works and her brow gets this little furrow that's utterly charming and _wow_ he is so far gone on this woman that sometimes it surprises even him. But nothing is as enticing as the complete delight on her face when she finishes building her fire. It's bright, gives off enough heat to take the bite of chill out of his bones and, best of all, it doesn't immediately collapse or blow out.

"Great job," he tells her affectionately as she looks to him with triumph and an infectious smile.

"I built a fire," she says proudly, hopping from foot to foot in what almost resembles a little dance.

"You did," he agrees with a little laugh.

It's not like she did it by rubbing two sticks together - they'd had the lighter and a branch already on fire - but it's a victory for her anyhow and he's happy to see her enjoy it.

"Now I get to play doctor with you," she says more seriously before her face freezes. "I mean… you know what I mean. This isn't some kind of extreme roleplay or anything. Not that I'm necessarily opposed-"

"Felicity," he interrupts with raised eyebrows and a grin as her face turns pink for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

He can't lie. He'd have _really_ liked to have heard where she was going with her little diatribe, but he also doesn't want her wallowing in embarrassment for the rest of the night and he's _pretty sure_ that's the way her rambling was headed.

"Your leg," she says after blowing some air through her lips to center herself. "Now we fix your leg. That's what I meant."

"I think that's easier said than done," he tells her.

"Why is that?" she asks.

"We can't cut off the pants. They're the only pair I have, so we're going to have to save them which means we have to take them off," he tells her.

"...before pulling out the glass," she realizes, looking down at the wound and sighing. "Oh, Oliver."

He blows some air through his thinned lips and rubs a hand over his scalp as he looks down at his leg. He hadn't really stopped to look at it before, both because there hadn't been time and because noticing it meant paying attention to it and _that_ meant feeling it. He hadn't had that luxury before. But, now...

It's windshield glass from the escape pod so it's thicker than a regular piece of glass, probably nearly half an inch. It's maybe three inches across and who knows how deep. The edges are jagged, uneven, and it's cracked like a spider web across its face. He hopes, he _desperately_ hopes, that it all comes out in one piece.

"We could tear around it?" she suggests. "Sew the jeans back up with the thread in the medical kit?"

"You think you have the strength to tear my _jeans_?" he asks her in disbelief.

"Well… no," she says. "But I'm sure you do."

He's wary of doing that. Just exerting that type of energy is going to tighten the muscles in his leg and he _really_ isn't relishing that. He's also more than a little worried about hitting the glass and worsening the wound. Still… he doesn't see as there's much choice.

"Wait," Felicity says, eyes lighting up. "Aren't there surgical scissors in the medical kit?"

"Grab it," he instructs her, hoping like hell that she's right.

She is.

Their medical kits are more than your standard emergency supplies, mostly because their brand of emergencies are anything but standard. In a situation like theirs, it's a veritable treasure trove of supplies.

"Oh thank god," he breathes in relief, leaning his head back against the wall of rock behind him.

"Hold still," Felicity orders, her tone all business and her focus exclusively fixed on his wound.

He watches her while she works. She's patched him up a dozen times. A _hundred_ times. But this is different. Their situation is more dire than usual and their emotions are raw, his are exposed in a way he's not used to, but still… she proves as reliable as ever.

She doesn't break her focus at all. Her fingers have earned a surgeon's precision and dexterity over the past few years and even by firelight with half-frozen fingers, she never slips once. She cuts his jeans just enough to fully expose the wound so she can study it more closely, form a plan of attack.

"I'm going to have to disinfect it," she says, looking up at him over the rim of her glasses.

"I know," he nods, wincing as he anticipates how much that will sting.

"We've got some numbing agents in the kit," she tells him.

"We should save those," he tells her.

"For what, exactly?" she asks, sitting back on her heels. "We might be rescued before morning. And, honestly Oliver, you need to sleep so you can heal up. If whoever you're worried about on this moon finds us, we both need to be rested and ready to run."

Sometimes she's perceptive enough that it throws him.

She's also very right.

"Okay," he agrees after a moment.

She looks surprised at his response.

"That tells me… a whole lot about how worried you are, you know?" she asks.

"One thing at a time," he redirects.

"Right," she says, tilting her head and obviously biting the inside of her cheek to keep from saying more.

"I'm not avoiding it," he tells her. "Not… really. But we really do need to deal with one thing at a time."

"Okay," she agrees, sounding more like she believes him than before and turning back to the medical kit, grabbing a syringe of lidocaine.

For someone who hates needles as much as she does, she's certainly good at using them. He barely even feels it as she quickly injects it near the wound and sets the needle aside.

"We should sterilize that. Save it," he tells her. "You never know what we might be able to use it for later."

"We can deal with that tomorrow," she tells him. "One thing at a time, remember?"

"Right," he agrees as the feeling starts to leach out of that portion of his leg.

She's busied herself with lining up the supplies she'll need. Tweezers, hydrogen peroxide, a needle and thread.

"Use the medical tubing, too," he tells her softly.

"What?" she asks, looking up at him in surprise.

"As a tourniquet," he tells her. "In case it's deeper than it looks. It could keep me from bleeding out."

"Don't even say that," she snaps at him, looking worried for the first time since she sat down to look at his wound.

"It's just a precaution," reassures her.

"You will be fine, Oliver Queen," she continues, not at all assuaged. "You will be _fine_. Neither one of us is going to die on this stupid moon. Okay? That's what I've decided."

"Okay, I'll be fine, honey. I just want us to be ready for anything, all right?"

She's utterly frozen in front of him for a long moment, staring at him like maybe he's crazy and he honestly can't even figure out why.

"Did you… did you just call me _honey_?" she asks after a moment.

And… oh _fuck_ , he realizes as he replays his words in his head.

"No," he says quickly, watching her with uncertain eyes. "Yes. Maybe… I think whether or not I own up to that sort of depends on how you take it."

She's quiet. _Unnaturally_ quiet for Felicity. Maybe it's the firelight or maybe it's that the look on her face is _so_ stunned, so foreign, but he can't read her expression and that is infinitely more concerning to him at the moment than any leg wound could be.

"One thing at a time," she says finally, blinking hard but her gaze repeatedly drifting back to meet his. "That's how I'm taking things right now."

"Right," he replies, his tone muted and dull.

He's really not sure how to take that response.

"Oliver," she says, gripping his fingers. "I'm not avoiding this, either, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, feeling a little more optimistic as he squeezes her hand back.

"You think it's numb enough?" she asks, nodding down toward his leg.

"I think it's as numb as it's getting," he tells her.

It's clearly not an answer she likes, but she nods and reaches for the surgical tubing and ties it tightly around his leg before grabbing the peroxide.

"This is going to sting," she warns him.

He knows. He's very aware of that. All the same, he hisses through his teeth and grips her free hand when she pours the liquid over his wound. It bubbles up, stinging brutally even with the lidocaine she'd administered.

"I'm sorry," she's saying.

It takes a second for him to realize that she's put down the bottle of peroxide and her now-free hand is resting on his cheek, lending him comfort.

"It's okay," he manages through too-fast breaths borne of pain. "Just get the glass out. Quickly, if you can, but please try to get it all."

"Okay," she nods firmly at him. "Yeah."

With that, she turns back to his leg and the real pain starts.

He's insanely grateful that she talked him into the lidocaine. At least _some_ of his thigh is numb. The rest of it, though…

It somehow feels both like it's on fire and like she's trying to pull a bone right out of his body. And, yes, he's been through substantially worse pain before, but that does nothing to dull the pain _now_.

Before he knows it, though, she's done. The flat of her palms are bracing his face and she's murmuring things into his forehead and she presses her lips against his skin. She hated doing that. He knows she did. She'll hate sewing him up, too, but for now she's as much comforting him as she is taking comfort from him and he finds he's relieved at the balance her presence brings him.

"You're okay," she says, the first words she's said since she pulled the glass from his leg that he can actually identify, but that might be because she's not speaking the words against his skin anymore.

She's hovering just an inch or two in front of his face, her words hanging in the air between them.

"I am," he manages after a moment, lending her the reassurance he's pretty sure she craves.

She sobs out a little laugh and shakes her head, pulling her hands away from his face. Her fingers are bloodied, her palms are unstained, and as steady as he _knows_ those fingers were when pulling the glass from his leg, they're shaking now.

"I'll sew it up," he says, looking down at the garish wound in his leg.

"Don't be ridiculous," she counters. "I can do it."

"Felicity, you hate needles," he reminds her.

"Yeah, on _me_ ," she replies.

"Felicity-"

"You don't need to do everything, Oliver," she cuts him off, leaving him blinking at her in surprise.

"I'm… not trying to," he says cautiously.

"That came out wrong," she sighs, pushing hair out of her face with a nearly-clean pinky finger. "I just… you've saved my life several times already today. I'm sure you'll save it more tomorrow. I can't… make snowshoes from scrap metal or build a speargun from random trash. But I can do this. I can help with this. So _let me_."

He gets it, but she's missing a few key points.

"I wouldn't have known where to put a bomb to give us the push we needed," he tells her. "I have no idea how to hack into Palmer's company or override the systems of another ship to ground it. You can help. You _do_ help. You've been saving my life for years. And, more than that, you've been making it better, too."

"Oliver-" she starts, but cuts herself off, biting her lip instead of biting out words.

"You can sew me up if you want to, Felicity, but don't feel like you need to just to prove your usefulness to me," he tells her. "Believe me. I already know exactly how special you are."

She pauses at that, looking at him like she's making a decision, something weighty and important. He can see as resolve settles in her eyes and a naked look of wonder washes over her face. He's not sure entirely what that means, but it feels important.

It's simple, then, the soft press of her lips to his.

It's gentle, genuine, absolutely chaste but completely full of promise. It's exactly the sort of kiss he'd tried to give her back in the server room on Verdant when she'd gripped his shirt and escalated things. And, for the first time, he feels like maybe they're on exactly the same page.

He doesn't know what she's searching for in his eyes when they part, but he hopes she finds it. He's hiding nothing at this point.

"One of us should sew me up before the lidocaine wears off completely," he says when she licks her lips and sits back on her heels, obviously unsure of what to say next.

"I'm doing it," she says again, instantly refocused on her task at hand.

And she does.

Her stitches are tight and small. The wound might not even scar, not that he cares much about that at this point, but it says a lot about the amount of care she puts into her work, puts into him. He loves her all the more for it.

She finishes quickly, having had entirely too much practice at this kind of thing in recent years. And she spends a moment looking to the side, staring at the medical supplies but probably seeing nothing as she collects her thoughts.

"You should use one of the wipes on your hands," he says, nodding toward the medical kit.

"No, we should save those," she counters, shaking her head. "The alcohol in the wipes could be useful later. I'll just rinse them off with some of the melted snow in the cushion covers."

"Use it," he tells her again.

"Oliver…"

"I've done more with less before. There's no use hanging on to supplies we can use when we might never need them again," he tells her.

"Okay," she agrees after a moment. "But I'm rinsing first anyhow."

"It's going to be cold," he warns her.

She laughs a little and shakes her head at him.

"What isn't?"

 _Her smile_ , he wants to say, but he holds the words inside instead.

He watches her silently as she busies herself with their meager supplies, rinsing her hands in the freezing cold water over near the entrance to their shelter before carefully wiping her hands down with the alcohol pad. She's meticulous, cleans carefully under her nails and scrubs at her wrists.

Maybe he should be doing something else, sorting out the sleeping bag or grabbing them some of the emergency meals, but he just watches her instead, soaking it all in. Her hair is frizzy and there are traces of soot and dirt and a dozen small cuts on her cheek. The snow has soaked her pants straight through as high as her knee. She's wearing _Roy's jacket_ and it's stuffed full of cushion. Still, he's seen her dressed for galas and undercover as a companion and she's as beautiful now as she's ever been.

Sometimes he loves her so much that it takes his breath away.

"Oh _man_ that's cold," she says as she finishes and puts the alcohol wipe to the side.

"Come here?" he requests.

She does and he grabs her freezing cold hands the moment she's in reach and brings them in front of his lips. He blows hot air on them while he rubs his hands against hers for friction. A sigh of relief pushes past her lips as he warms her fingers and she eases herself down to sit next to him, leaning her small body against his. He stops for a second to put an arm around her, pull her closer, before going back to warming up her hands.

"Thanks," she says with quiet affection, prompting him to stop his efforts.

"Of course," he replies like it was nothing.

Because it _was_. He'd do anything for her. Anything at all. Rubbing warmth into her hands doesn't even register as noteworthy for him.

"We should eat something," he tells her. "We used a lot of energy getting here."

"How much food do we have?" she asks, glancing worriedly at the nearby supplies.

"There should be enough for three days for four people," he tells her. "So… twelve meals and probably a dozen protein bars tossed in as snacks. We can stretch that though. There's not much in the way of edible plants this time of year, but I saw fish in that lake. We should eat one of the meals tonight and then try to keep them just for breakfast and stick to fish as much as possible."

"I'm probably going to hate seafood by the time we get out of here, aren't I?" she asks, flinching.

"I think that's likely," he acknowledges, reaching over to the backpack and grabbing the package of food.

"Most of these require you to add water," she notes, looking to the food in his hands. "I'm not _that_ hungry. Especially not for chicken teriyaki with a 25-year shelf life. I'll just take a protein bar for now, okay?"

It's not as many calories as he'd like to see either of them having after their hike through the snow, but he can't disagree with her. He isn't much inclined to exert the energy for food preparation either. Not when there's another option.

He hands her a protein bar - mint chocolate flavored - and takes a peanut butter one for himself. He tears through the wrapper and takes a large bite. He really hopes hers tastes more like mint chocolate than his does like peanut butter. She doesn't complain, but she also doesn't make any surprised little happy noises, so he presumes it doesn't.

"I'm really cold," she says after a moment, their sad excuse for a meal finished. "I mean, I know it's _cold_ , but my legs are really freezing."

"The temperature is dropping," he agrees. "And we need to warm up more. Our soaked pants aren't doing us any favors either, especially now that we aren't moving."

"I don't think we can get that fire any warmer, Oliver," she says, glancing at the flame in the middle of their campground and back to Oliver.

"I doubt it," he agrees. "But we need to get out of the wet clothes and … luckily we have body heat and a sleeping bag."

Her mouth forms this adorable little surprised 'O' shape and her eyebrows shoot up.

"You mean we should… share the sleeping bag. Naked," she qualifies, blinking at him.

"That _is_ the best way to share body heat," he points out. "But if you're not comfor-"

"I am," she interrupts him. "I mean, comfortable isn't exactly the right word. There are other words. Possibly some of them are ones I should say, but I'd sort of like to be warmer first."

"O… Okay," he says, fumbling a little bit on the word, a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety washing over him at the prospect of what exactly she means to say.

She stands back up, grabs the sleeping bag and unrolls it, unzippering it and opening it fully. It's larger than he'd remembered, but it's still going to be a tight fit for two people. Not that that's something he's really complaining about - both because of the benefits of body heat and because proximity to Felicity is _never_ something he'll object to - but it might pose a slight problem for his leg. He'll just have to be careful, he resolves. That and hope that Felicity's nearness will distract him in a good way enough that he fails to notice whenever her legs bump against his injury.

"Are you going to need help with your pants?" she asks.

And _wow_ that thought shorts out his brain.

"No, I… I've got it," he tells her.

If she's ever going to undress him, it's not going to be like _this._

He tries to pay attention to himself. He stands up on his own, favoring his injured leg pretty heavily, and tugs his shirt over his head, balling it up with the cushion bits inside to use as a pillow later. But he doesn't get further than unbuttoning his pants before he's wholly distracted by her.

Her jacket is off, bunched up similarly to his. Her shirt and bra, too, are gone and her nipples are dark and peaked in the cold. That would be enough to strike him utterly dumb but she's also shimmying out of her jeans and _god damn_ he loves her ass. He loves everything about her, physical and otherwise, but this… he can't help the choking noise caught in his throat.

It's freezing. It's _freezing_ but he's not cold. His heart pounds furiously and a rush of heat surges through his veins. His palms itch to touch her, his whole body aches to be near her. It's compulsive at this point, a bone-deep craving that sets his nerve endings on fire.

She casts him an almost shy smile that does absolutely nothing to curb his desire.

"You need to get naked. I need your body," she tells him before turning several shades redder. "That came out… you know what I mean."

"Do I?" he teases, a little relieved to be gaining some ground.

"Well… that's _part_ of what I mean, anyhow," she counters, sneaking a look at him as she smiles coyly.

She's going to be the death of him, he decides, and he doesn't even mind.

He has the presence of mind to remove his pants carefully, some of the blood around his wound having dried and making the hair of his leg stick to his jeans in a wholly uncomfortable way, but he doesn't linger on the task.

"Should, uh… should underwear be off for this?" she asks, licking her lips and shifting slightly as she rubs her hands against her upper arms. "For warmth, I mean?"

"That's… that's up to you, I think," he manages because - yes - it really should, but he's not about to decide that for her.

She doesn't answer with words. She answers by hooking her fingers into the sides of her panties and dragging them down her legs. It feels like she's answering more than one question with that act, but he doesn't dare to make assumptions. He does, however, follow suit.

Oliver's never been particularly embarrassed by his own nudity - his teens would have involved a whole lot fewer arrests for public indecency if he had - and this time is no different. It probably helps that he's been hard as a goddamned rock since the second she'd kissed him softly just before stitching him up. The cold really isn't doing anything to diminish things for him.

"Oh," she breathes out, looking a little surprised and blatantly staring before realizing what she's doing and looking away. "Oh, sorry. I just… I didn't mean to… Sorry."

She does sneak another look though, in spite of her embarrassment, and he can't help laughing a little and shaking his head at her affectionately.

"It's fine," he assures her. "Come on."

He moves, a little stiffly, a little awkwardly, to the sleeping bag already laid out and lies down on it before patting the spot next to him. She follows a second later, curling up on her side facing him.

It takes some effort to zipper them shut. The sleeping bag is clearly meant for one person and it's tight around the both of them, but that has benefits in more ways than one. The warmth is immediate and perfect, but the press of her skin along the entire length of his body is even better.

Their faces are just far enough apart that he can see her clearly, but close enough that he can see every flicker of emotion as it shifts in her eyes. She's struggling with something she wants to say. He can see it. He reaches up, brushes hair away from her face, trails his fingers along the soft column of her neck.

"You said," she starts nervously, stopping her head and shaking it before beginning again. "Earlier, on the ship, you said you wanted to hold me and you didn't want to let go."

"I _do_ ," he says, choking on his own conviction. "Felicity, I _do_. More than anything. If you'll let me."

"I want that, too," she tells him, nodding and biting her lips together. "Just… please don't change your mind? If we get out of here and you decide you have to keep your distance again, I don't… I don't know how I'd get past that."

"I _swear_ ," he vows, meaning it with every fiber of his being. "I love you. So, _so_ much and I'm done hiding from that. I _swear_."

"Okay," she nods, angling her neck a little to press her lips against his before murmuring the word again into his skin.

He breathes out one kind of tension against her lips and lets another, far more pleasurable kind build up under the heat of her kiss. He's hesitant to touch her anywhere without figuring out her boundaries first, but he can't help the way his hands bracket her face as he kisses her back.

She sighs, a happy little noise, as they part and she looks up at him with this soft, contented smile that make his heart pound faster.

"Does that… Felicity, please tell me you're saying what I think you are," he implores.

She smiles at him, bright and easy and it makes his heart feel light for the first time since they got their memories back.

"I'm saying I'm in love with you and I want this. I want _us_ ," she clarifies. "If you're in this, I am, too."

"Really?" he asks, searching her eyes with a desperate hopefulness.

"Really," she confirms with a laugh, stroking his arm within the cocoon of their sleeping bag. "Kiss me, Oliver."

She doesn't have to tell him twice.

He probably wouldn't be able to keep the excitement and passion out of his kiss if he tried, but he isn't inclined to anyhow. His lips fuse against hers as one of his hands drags down her spine to her waist, pulling her flush against him.

The kiss is long and searing in its heat. He tugs her lower lip with his teeth and lets his hand drift slightly lower than her waist to trace the curve of her hipbone. She kisses him back with ever-increasing urgency, leaving him feeling like this is all spiraling toward _something_.

"Oh _Oliver_ ," she sighs as he abandons her lips and kisses a path down her neck, rediscovering the places that make her shudder against him.

" _I love you_ ," he whispers against her skin, her body quaking against his at his words, her nipples brushing against his chest and her thigh rubbing against his cock.

"I love you, too," she gasps out as he sucks at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

He wants to kiss his way down her body. He wants to remind himself what it feels like to close his lips around her nipple and savor the feel of its texture against his tongue. He wants to discover the way she tastes and how she breaks apart under the press of his tongue against her most sensitive spots. He wants to fill her up, watch her eyes slam shut and her body arch as she convulses around him. But they're limited by their circumstances. They need to stay cocooned in the sleeping bag together and not only can he really not risk straining the stitches on his leg, but also a condom was not a part of the emergency supply kit.

That is a thing he's absolutely changing as soon as they're back on Verdant, but there's nothing he can do about it right now.

"I want to touch you," he says, running his thumb along the underside of her breast as he looks at her with desire and intent.

"We are touching," she says with a clueless little laugh. "We're zippered in a sleeping bag together."

He raises his eyebrows and looks at her with piercing eyes as he very purposefully drags his hand down to run his fingers along her lower belly. For all the unintentional innuendo she trips over, it's sort of amazing how it takes her a second to realize what he means.

"Oh," she says, eyes going large and pupils rapidly expanding as she catches up. "Oh that's… not what you meant, is it?"

"It's _really_ not," he agrees, voice heavy and full of intent.

She runs her tongue along her teeth and shifts her hips some under his hand.

"Okay," she breathes out.

"Yeah?" he asks, tracing the line of her hipbone down to the curve of her inner thigh.

" _Yeah_ ," she confirms, pulling her leg up to drape over his and making space for his hand between her thighs.

He groans and drags his fingers up the soft skin of her inner thigh, delighting in the way her eyes flutter, fighting to keep open against the sensations coursing through her body. It strikes him solidly that he wants to see her like this every night. Always. For the rest of his life. If he hadn't already known she was the last woman he'd ever love, he would have figured it out then.

Something in him desperately wants to drag this out as much as he possibly can, soak in every little moan he can coax out of her, every single way her brow tightens and she bites her lip. He skirts his hand past the apex of her thighs, despite how badly he'd like to sink his fingers in and explore her slick heat.

He will. He'll get to that. But first, he wants to tease her more.

He kisses around the curve of her jaw, sucking at the tender flesh just behind her ear as his hand trails up to cup her left breast and run his thumb in maddeningly soft circles over her nipple.

She shudders, moans, curls her leg around his more. The move opens her up, leaves her core pressed against his thigh. The wet heat of her is undeniable and he groans, rocking his hips against her instinctively as he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The breathy gasp of his name she gives in response is possibly the best thing he's ever heard in his entire fucking life.

He's not sure which one of them he's teasing more at this point, honestly.

"Oliver, _please_ ," she sighs out, turning her head so they're nose-to-nose as she runs her hands down his chest. "You wanted to touch me, so _touch_ me."

That's not a request he has the power to deny.

Their gazes lock in what might be the most intimate moment he can remember ever having as he trails his hand down her belly to settle between her legs. She doesn't flinch, doesn't look away as his fingers trace the crease of her sex before sinking deeper, parting her open and gliding through her slickness.

Her face is an open book to everything she's feeling, everything he's _making_ her feel, and he's hungry to read every expression to its fullest.

His thumb finds her clit, circles the hardened little nub softly with his calloused fingertip.

"Oh _god_ ," she breathes, shifting her hips harder against his hand, seeking more friction.

He adjusts them slightly, turning until she's on her back and he's half on top of her, giving him a better angle to work from. The sleeping bag is tighter across them at this angle. It's pinning down one side of her hips while his body holds down the other and the restriction of her ability to really _move_ seems like it heightens something for Felicity. She whines deep in her throat and her back arches, thrusting her chest upwards. He wishes he could see it, the rise of her breasts, but the sleeping bag is in the way. That's okay, though, ultimately he'd rather not be distracted from the incredible myriad of emotion and want that plays across her face.

He slides two fingers inside her then, watching with total delight as her breathing speeds up and her jaw goes slack. _God_ she's wet. His fingers pump inside her with an easy glide that only serves to spur him on more.

When he was younger, he wouldn't have thought of this as sex. Hell, he wouldn't have thought of it as much of anything. But it is. It's more than that, even. It's earth-shattering, mind-blowing, and he's not even the one rapidly heading toward an orgasm.

He's focused enough on her reaction that he actually misses what her hands are doing until one of them closes around his cock and _oh holy shit_ that feels amazing. He gasps and buries his face into her neck for a second as she pumps him with firm little movements that make sparks go off somewhere in the base of his spine.

But, ultimately, as good as it feels, he wants to focus on her.

He grabs her wrist with his free hand, twines their fingers together and pins her hand above her head. The look on her face is a little surprised and questioning, but also incredibly turned on.

"I want to see you come," he tells her, his voice low and gritty as his fingers curl inside her, brush against a spot that makes her gasp. "It's haunted me ever since we got our memories back. I don't want _anything_ to distract me from that."

"Oh, _oh_ ," she pants, spreading her legs as much as she can in the confined space of the sleeping bag as he finds that place inside her that elicited the little gasp before.

"Like that?" he asks, watching her face as he strokes more firmly, more urgently against it and brings his thumb back to circle her clit.

She whines high in her throat, bites her lip and nods fiercely as her hips piston madly against his hand. It's as good an answer as anything verbal.

"Oliver, oh please, oh god," she babbles desperately. "Please, I need…"

"I've got you," he promises, rubbing his thumb more urgently against her, winding her up steadily toward the brink. "I've got you, honey, come on."

"Oh _god_ ," she gasps as she seizes, clenching around his fingers and losing all rhythm in her hips. "Oh god, Oliver."

Her face is flushed and her eyes slam shut as her body bows and she breaks against his hand. It's gorgeous. He can't help staring at her as she comes, keeping his fingers moving to drag the moment out as long as he can.

"Oh wow," she sighs after a second and he withdraws his hand to cup her face with instead as he presses his mouth to hers in a series of almost desperately wanting, utterly grateful kisses.

He's so goddamned lucky to have this, to have _her_ , to be allowed to be _them_ that he almost can't even believe it.

"You are… _really_ good at that," she says to his great amusement after he finally pulls back. "Like _really_ good."

He wisely chooses not to point out that years away from civilization meant no access to birth control and he'd had plenty of practice with all sorts of ways to have sex that couldn't possibly result in pregnancy. It's _true_ , but this really, really isn't the time for that sort of conversation.

"Glad you're satisfied," he says instead, because _really_ what else can he say?

"Mmm, understatement," she says, curling up against him in a cuddle, running her nose against his collarbone. " _Next time_ , though, I want to see _you_ satisfied."

"Believe me," he says, "I am."

"Still…" she says, with a mischievous little grin that full-on makes his heart _stop_. "I feel like maybe you could be _more_ satisfied."

Her hand has trailed down his stomach again and his abs tighten with a sudden intake of breath as she traces a finger up the line of his still-very-hard cock. He moans at her touch as she rubs her thumb over the tip, spreading a bead of precum around in a truly mind-numbing way that briefly short circuits all reason.

"Felicity, with my leg…" he groans, voice heavy with regret.

"Oh…" she says stilling her hand. "I didn't even think of that."

"I can't risk pulling the stitches," he tells her, regretting every single word. "When it's better…"

"Oh, I have plans for when it's better," she tells him firmly. "Big plans. Lots of plans. _All_ of the plans."

"Good," he smiles, leaning forward to kiss her again. "I look forward to your plans. But until then, we should probably sleep. It's been a long day."

"It has," she agrees. "But considering a part of it was spent under attack and then crash landing on a freezing moon, it's been a surprisingly good one."

"Yeah," he agrees with a little laugh, kissing her one more time just because he can. "It really has. You know what's going to be even better?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow," he promises. "Get some sleep."

And with her cheeks flushed in delight and her head resting against the pillow of his chest, his body heat chasing away the chill in the air, she does.


	24. Chapter 24

She wakes up in the best way possible, with Oliver's hand trailing up her side and his lips exploring the line of her neck. She sighs, hums happily and cranes her neck to give him more access before even opening her eyes.

Stone floor or not, this is _perfect_.

His chuckle rumbles against her skin and she can _feel_ the smile in his lips pressed to the slope of her bare shoulder. It's beautiful. It's everything she wanted for him, for them. Her heart's so light she feels like she could fly.

"Good morning," he says into her shoulder between kisses that burn her skin in the best way possible.

"It is so far," she agrees, tilting her head to look at him.

Blue eyes meet hers, brighter and happier than she can remember him ever looking before. He seems younger, somehow. Like the weight of everything is just a bit lighter this morning. Like he's free.

Which is _crazy_ because they're stuck in the frozen wilderness, but that doesn't make it less true.

"So… what do we need to do this morning?" she asks.

"Well…" he says, his eyes not leaving hers as he kisses her shoulder again. "First, I need to kiss my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend, huh?" she asks, finding his grin to be totally and completely infectious as it spreads across her face.

"I have it on good authority that she doesn't like the word 'lover,' so… yeah. Girlfriend, partner, better-half," he recites, leaning in to kiss her. "She gets all those titles and pretty much any other ones she wants to claim."

"Lucky girl," she murmurs as she grins against his lips.

"Pretty sure I'm the lucky one," he breathes into her mouth between kisses.

She wonders when the last time was that Oliver thought of himself as lucky. She'd bet it's been a while. And that he feels like that _now_ , that _she_ made him feel like that even though they're trapped in really terrible circumstances… well, that's nothing short of mindblowing.

His hands trace over her skin, seemingly aimless and probably just because he can, but his touch is absolutely igniting. She groans as his fingers skirt along the bottom edge of her ribs and she rolls her hips backwards against him in an incredibly deliberate way.

He hadn't been expecting that.

She's sure of it.

His breath catches and his hand stills against her skin, so she does it again, savors his groan in response and the way his head drops back down to her shoulder.

"How's your leg?" she asks

"Not well enough for you to keep doing that," he replies, sounding like he'd very much rather not admit it.

And… damn, she'd sort of gotten her hopes up.

"I should take a look at it," she says, turning to face him.

"Probably," he sighs. "And we need to rebuild the fire and sew up my pants. I should make the harpoon gun, too, see what kind of luck I have fishing."

"We're low on firewood," she notes, looking past him toward their meager stash. "I should go get more while you sew up your pants."

He tenses up immediately at that suggestion and his grip tightens a little against her hip. He hates this idea. She knows it immediately. He absolutely doesn't want her out of his sight. But he nods anyhow, brow tight with worry.

"Take the gun with you," he tells her. "And, Felicity, if you see anyone. _Use_ it."

Nothing of his earlier joyful ease shows on his face now. The difference is so stark, so immediate, that it only serves to underscore precisely how dangerous he thinks this moon really is.

"Who's on this moon, Oliver?" she asks, fingers running up and down his arm soothingly as she speaks.

He sighs and licks his lips, but his hesitation to answer is rooted in trying to find the right words, not avoidance. She knows that and she waits in silence while he sifts through his thoughts.

"The five years that I was away… I wasn't always on Lian Yu," he says finally.

"I thought so," she replies, nodding as she threads her fingers through his. "So where were you?"

"Here, for one," he answers. "My time here… the choices I had to make, they were about survival, too. Not like this, but still…"

She nods, watching as he fights some distant memory brought to light, but she can't stand that pained look on his face. Not right now. So she leans up, kisses him softly and brings him back to the present.

The gentle smile of affection on his face when they part feels like a triumph.

"There was a while where I was working for ARGUS. Not because I wanted to, but I wasn't left much of a choice," he confesses. "The kinds of things I'd had to do to survive on Lian Yu gave me a skill set that Waller was eager to use and she knew exactly what buttons to push to make me do what she wanted."

"She threatened your family?" Felicity guesses.

"And Tommy," Oliver confirms. "But being here on this moon, even though it was a mission for her, it wasn't the usual kind of thing she had me doing. She didn't need me here because of my abilities to kill or… or to get information out of someone. She had me here because of my connection to the Bratva."

This is the most she's ever heard him talk about his time away and he's clearly not done yet. It's hard for him. She can see that. _Anyone_ could see that. He's tense and his brow is knit, his eyes guarded like he's expecting judgement. He'll get none from her. He is who he is because of everything he's gone through and she loves that man with her whole heart. Whatever he's had to do, whoever he's had to be to get them here, she's just glad they're here.

"Why did she need someone from the Bratva?" Felicity asks, bringing their joined hands up to kiss the inside of his wrist in silent support.

"Because it gave me an in," he replies, curling his hand so his fingers stroke her cheek. "Bertinelli uses this moon as his base of operations. On the surface, he's completely dominated the terraforming market, but if you dig a little deeper…"

"The Mafia," Felicity grimaces. "So he thought you were here representing the Bratva when really you were working for Waller. Do you think they're the ones who shot us down?"

"I think if they weren't it's one hell of a coincidence," Oliver tells her. "But whether it was them or not, I'm sure they saw the pod crashing and there's no way they aren't looking for us."

"Okay, so we're on a moon run by the Mafia and they're trying to track us down," she says, taking a deep breath.

"It's… worse than that," Oliver tells her.

"Well… don't stop there, then," she urges, even though she's really starting to be sorry that she asked in the first place.

Oliver sighs.

"Waller wasn't clear about my mission going in," he tells her. "I _thought_ we were working to take down Frank Bertinelli. I spent four months here working my way into his inner circle and the more time I spent around that man the happier I was with the idea of bringing down his reign. He's brutal, heartless. Even his daughter hates him enough to want him dead. But, ultimately, that wasn't what Waller wanted."

"So what did she want?" Felicity asks.

"Two things," Oliver tells her. "One was to sabotage the terraforming operations - ironically their _legitimate_ business practices were Waller's problem. The other was to pin the sabotage on the Bratva."

"She wanted you to start a _mob war_?" Felicity asks, eyes wide and blinking rapidly at him.

"That part didn't go quite like she planned," Oliver says. "Anatoly is too smooth and too smart to get dragged into something like that. Waller miscalculated with him. But the sabotage went perfectly. It cost Bertinelli a fortune and set them back nearly a year. And he is well aware that I'm the one who did it."

"Oh god," Felicity breathes as the gravity of that settles over her. "They'll kill you."

"If we're together, they'll kill both of us," he tells her. "Eventually. They won't make it fast. So… if you see anyone. _Shoot_ them. Got it?"

She nods, taking this every bit as seriously as it is. She's not a killer, but she is a survivor. And if it comes down to their lives or someone else's… well, that's not so hard a choice to make.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his eyes searching hers. "You can shoot someone?"

"Well… I might not _hit_ them," she admits. "I'm not exactly a great shot."

"But you'd try?" he asks. "You'd point the gun at someone and you'd pull the trigger intending to take their life?"

"Yes," she confirms. "If it meant saving our lives, I would. Definitely. Without hesitation."

"Good," he says, looking a little relieved.

"But, Oliver, my aim is pretty terrible," she reminds him. "I couldn't even hit a reaver when they were attacking our ship and that was sort of like shooting fish in a barrel. Fast moving piranhas maybe, but still… fish."

"We can practice that," he tells her.

"Not to be a buzzkill, but we only have one clip," she reminds him.

"So we don't use the gun to practice with," he shrugs. "Yeah, it'll be different with it's weight and the kickback, but aim is about concentration, focus, awareness of your environment. We can work on that with the speargun or throwing rocks or, if I can find something to use as a bowstring, with a bow and arrow."

She blinks at him at that, a little stunned.

"You want to teach me to shoot a bow and arrow?" she asks.

"I want to teach you to survive," he clarifies, stroking her hair back from her face. "Because you are… so important to me, Felicity. I can't lose you."

Well… when he puts it _that_ way.

"Okay," she says. "So, what do we need for a bowstring?"

There is something special about this experience that she can't quite put her finger on, but she's starting to figure out, she thinks as his face lights up and he launches into the details of how to make a bow from _nothing_. Yes, it's dangerous and conditions are uncertain and unforgiving, but it also gives her a chance to see Oliver in his element. More than that, it gives him the chance to share a part of himself he might not have otherwise. There's something beautiful about that, something that feels like it draws them ever closer.

Ultimately, when he finishes his explanation of what he'll need for the bow and they agree on which tasks are most important this morning, it proves harder than she expects to pull herself away from him.

Oliver is ridiculously tempting anytime, but naked and pressed up against her brings it to new heights. She feels like she deserves some kind of award for finally extracting herself from his very warm arms and leaving the sleeping bag. Multiple awards, maybe. It's _cold_ , the fire having burned out sometimes overnight and she's shivering while she pulls on her clothes and tries to ignore the way Oliver is staring hungrily at her, like he's trying to memorize every inch of her body.

She bites back the urge to playfully remind him that studying her body isn't on his 'to do' list this morning because it occurs to her - somewhat miraculously - that maybe it _is_. It just has to be near the bottom of the list, sadly. There are actual survival-dependent things that need to happen first.

And _that_ totally refocuses her on the tasks at hand.

" _You_ sew up your pants while I'm gone and I'll be back soon with firewood," she tells Oliver, tossing his torn jeans to him and sticking the gun in her waistband while trying very hard not to be distracted by his naked chest as he sits up still mostly inside the sleeping bag.

"Yes, ma'am," he says in response to her authoritative directions.

And… yeah, the shudder that goes through her at _that_ has absolutely nothing to do with the cold at all.

As she straps her snowshoes on, she shoots him a warning look which he has the nerve to try and look guiltless in response to. It's _ridiculous_. He's ridiculous, with his faux innocence and stupid charming self and she has _things_ she needs to do. Important survival things! She has to make a fire! Hypothermia is bad and she very much likes all of her limbs attached, thank you very much. His too, for that matter. God, he's such a _problem_ sometimes. So much trouble.

" _I'm_ trouble?" he asks laughing.

She groans. Of course she'd say some of that out loud.

"I'm trouble," he repeats. "Like you aren't the one who just sauntered naked across the cave-"

"Sauntered!"

"-and writhed your way into your clothes-"

"Oh my god, Oliver," she laughs in disbelief.

"-all ridiculously sexy like some kind of snow siren."

"God, Oliver, stop," she laughs.

He does but he doesn't stop staring at her with blindingly open affection.

"I _literally_ just walked ten feet and put on clothing," she tells him after a moment. "Aren't you supposed to find taking _off_ clothing sexy? Not putting it on!"

"I find everything you do sexy, Felicity," he tells her in a surprisingly earnest voice. "And if you don't know that by now, that's something I'm going to have to remind you of on a very, _very_ regular basis because you deserve to know it."

She shakes her head, heat rising in her cheeks as she bites her lip and looks to the side. Sometimes her feelings for him just sneak up and overwhelm her. It's incredible. She never even dreamed she could love someone this much. But the most amazing thing, the thing that really throws him, is that she can tell him that now.

So she does.

"Well then, I guess it's only fair that _I_ remind _you_ on a regular basis exactly how much I love and respect you, because that's something _you_ deserve to know," she says bending down to kiss him.

The sheer joy and lightness on his face tells her instantly that she's said exactly the right thing. He hasn't ever been lacking in affection from women, but she suspects very few have known him as well as she does. She loves so much more about him than just his handsome face and finely chiseled body. And maybe… maybe he does need to be reminded of that. Her admiration for him goes so far beyond the physical.

She's seen his scars, physical and otherwise, and she loves those too.

"Here," she says, handing him the sewing kit from the medical supplies. "I'm taking the sled to pile on as much wood as I can. I'll be back soon."

"Stay in shouting range," he advises seriously.

"I will," she promises, unable to resist the impulse to kiss him one more time. "I'll be careful. Love you."

"Love you, too," he smiles at her, the curve of his lips understated but genuine, before looking down to examine the tear in his jeans.

She turns to go, grabs the sled on her way and steps past the large rock blocking most of the entrance to their little cave into a blinding world of white.

She stops immediately. It's _stunning_.

Sunlight reflects off the pristine blanket of white in the completely undisturbed wild. She'd scarcely noticed how beautiful it really was the night before. There had been too much concern about Oliver's leg and finding shelter. But now… now it gains her appreciation.

Still, for all the natural beauty that surrounds her, it's the sky that really pulls her attention.

"Wow," she murmurs.

"Everything okay?" Oliver asks from inside the cave.

"Yeah, just… I know we're on a moon, but I'd somehow forgotten there would be a _planet_ ," she replies.

His answering chuckle is closer than she'd expected and she turns to find him just behind her, wearing the still-torn jeans and tugging down the henley he's clearly just pulled on.

"St. Albans," he replies, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I can see _cities_ ," she says, a little amazed as she stares at the spiderweb of lights that play out across the world in front of her.

The planet fills the entire Eastern edge of the sky. It's seemingly close enough to touch, but in truth it's unreachable. At least for them.

"There are some," he agrees, pressing a kiss onto her shoulder as she leans back against him and takes in the view. "Not many. It's one of the coldest planets in the 'verse."

"Colder than _here_?" she questions.

"No, not colder than here," he chuckles.

"I was going to say, I can't imagine it much colder than this," she tells him.

"You should be here in winter," he replies.

"This… this _isn't_ winter?" she sputters.

"No," he tells her. "Judging by the plants, I'm guessing we're in early fall. Believe me. It gets colder than this."

"Oliver, that's literally the opposite of comforting," she tells him.

"Don't worry about it," he advises. "We'll be long gone by then."

She looks to him and nods, having every faith that he's completely correct. Digg and the others will come. _Soon_. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but definitely soon. She's positive.

Two weeks later, she'll be a whole lot less sure.


	25. Chapter 25

That first day goes by faster than she would have expected. Everything from gathering firewood to fishing to cooking takes _time_. She doesn't have a handle on the pace of this life yet and she doesn't understand how exhausting it is.

She will though. It won't take long for her to figure it out.

On the second day, she wakes much as she did the first, much as she will every day in the next two weeks, in Oliver's arms with kisses pressed into her skin and hands memorizing the curves of her body. She's sore, aches from the stone floor and a level of physical exertion that she's simply not used to. Oliver's hands help, though. The warm, firm press of his thumbs kneading her knotted muscles brings nearly as much blissful relief as when those same hands wander her body with a lot more intent a little bit later.

She loves his hands. She loves _all_ of him, really, but her appreciation for his fingers has definitely reached new heights.

When those hands reach into the pocket of his sewn-up jeans and pull out a too-familiar ring, her gaze flies to his eyes in surprise.

 _I don't want to lose it_ , he tells her. _So, I'm going to ask if you'll wear it for now. But next time I give it to you, there's going to be a question attached._

She kisses him hard, says _okay_ , and slips the ring on her finger. He doesn't stop staring at it there for days.

It feels so right with the ring back on her finger that it startles her, but she says nothing to him about it. She doesn't have the words.

The third day she watches in wonder as he uses the scissors from the medical kit to cut thin strips of silk from Roy's boxers, braiding them together and ultimately using them as a bowstring. There are birds on this moon, now. A change from last time Oliver was here. And as she eats something other than fish or rations that night, she wonders how exactly she's going to explain to Roy that they owe their dinner in part to his underwear.

The fourth day is spent with Oliver trying to teach her to hunt. Trying being the operative word. By the end of the day she can shoot a motionless target most of the time, but birds and fish tend not to stay in one spot while you aim. But still, it's progress and she's spent most of the day with Oliver's steady presence at her back and his arms around her adjusting her grip, so she calls it a win.

The fifth day, she makes a mistake. They were _not_ blueberries and they were not edible. She spends the sixth and seventh day violently ill, curled in on herself with her head on Oliver's lap as he strokes her forehead with damp cloth torn from one of Roy's shirts. She doesn't remember much of those days, but she does remember the fear and helplessness on Oliver's face as he holds her.

She thinks maybe he thought she was going to die. She knows she thought she might.

Oliver hovers on the eighth and ninth days. She scared the hell out of him the past few days and she knows it. The way he tries to get her to rest and makes every effort to anticipate her needs might be a little annoying if it weren't so endearing. He makes the 'verse's worst soup out of a bird he managed to shoot, some edible roots he dug up and some wild leeks and mushrooms he found growing nearby.

It's the best thing she's eaten since they got here.

The tenth day, the tables turn. He's limping and obviously in pain. The wound in his leg is visibly infected. It's discolored and swollen with terrifying red streaks around it and his skin is hot to the touch. For three days, he can't even walk. For one of those he's hallucinating and delirious, thinking he's back on Lian Yu and crying out her name and things about reavers.

It's terrifying and it breaks her heart.

She hunts, successful in large part due to sheer willpower and hunger. She cleans her kills and cooks them. It's not as creative or as tasty as Oliver's cooking, but it's nutrients and calories and they both need that, badly. She has to help him eat, though, and that scares her even more than his fever or his incoherent screams. She doesn't know what she'll do if she loses him.

Her fingers twist the ring around her finger in worry and she holds him, wishing for the first time that he wasn't so very warm. She can deal with the chilly air if only he gets healthy. She'll never complain about the cold again. She promises.

Every few hours, she rinses his wound and uses their scarce medical supplies to help it heal as much as possible. She heats up stones she gathered from the lake, smoothed over by years of waves, and heats them over the fire before placing them over his cut to help draw out the infection.

And slowly, it all starts to help.

She cries when his fever finally breaks early on their thirteenth day on this moon. She holds on to him like she's terrified he might fade away in her arms and kisses his face as he looks at her with bleary recognition. Seeing him like this was so much worse than when she was ill. But he is strong and so is she and they both make it through.

They're exhausted, emotionally and physically, and they take the rest of that thirteen day to rest. It feels like a luxury. She doesn't hunt, instead making do with the last of the protein bars and some fish she'd caught the night before. They keep the fire going - a necessity for survival - but nothing else. They slumber in each other's arms in a sleeping bag on the stone floor of a cave and it feels like a gift. She's so grateful she could sob for relief.

Considering the past two weeks, the fourteenth day starts really, really well. But it's also the day everything changes.

She wakes up to the press of his lips on the back of her neck and the sweeping feeling of relief that surges through her is tremendous. It's been days since that's happened. She'd been so caught up in worry for him that she hadn't even realized how much she had grown attached to their morning ritual. But, _oh_ she really had.

"You scared me," she whispers, grabbing his hand and pulling it up to her mouth to kiss his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against her spine.

"It's not your fault," she tells him, turning in his arms to face him as she speaks. "But, Oliver, I don't know that I've been that terrified in my whole life. I thought I was going to lose you for a while there."

"I'm better now," he promises, lacing their fingers together and kissing the inside of her wrist. "Better than I've been in weeks. I promise. You took good care of me."

The laugh she lets out is more of a sob than anything else and she kisses him with relief and the remnants of fear still lingering beneath her skin.

"I hunted our food!" she tells him proudly when she pulls back.

"I remember," he smiles back. "And you _cooked_ it. I'm very impressed."

"I shot a bird, Oliver. _A bird_ ," she emphasizes. "With a bow and arrow. And, I mean we're talking a bow made out of twigs and Roy's underwear!"

"I knew you could," he tells her, watching her with pride. "I've always believed in you."

She buries her smile in his chest and sighs happily. For everything they've lost through this experience, it feels like there's also so much that they've gained.

"I'd like to get out of here today," he says, surprising her and drawing her attention.

"Oliver… I'm not sure you should be up and walking around yet," she cautions, worry etched into her features.

"I know," he agrees. "I won't go far and you can come with me, but I just… I need to get outside, breathe some fresh air."

"...We are literally living in a cave in the wilderness," she points out. "There's nothing _but_ fresh air. That's the one thing we have in abundance. Well… that and snow."

"Just for a bit," he says. "I promise I will rest if I need to."

She frowns and narrows her eyes at him.

"I don't like this," she says finally.

"I know," he replies, cupping her face and kissing her lips until they aren't downturned anymore. "That's because you worry about me and you love me."

"I really, _really_ do," she agrees, her heart flipping at the look of delight on his face over the entire notion.

"We'll go slow," he promises. "Just for… half an hour."

"Twenty minutes and we break in the middle whether you think you need it or not," she bargains.

"Deal," he agrees easily.

The excitement on his face at the prospect of a walk through the snow is both endearing and silly. They've literally done nothing else for weeks, but then he's spent the last few days cooped up and she can understand how that gets to someone. She's been there, too.

They dress quickly and she grabs the backpack as well as the bow and arrows, just to be on the safe side, before they head out.

They've explored most of the southern shore of the lake already and they came in from the east, so she's not surprised at all when Oliver chooses to forge a path slightly up the hillside next to the lake heading northwest. It figures that he'd want to explore new ground even though he was so recently injured. He keeps to his word, though. They go slowly and they break after ten minutes, sitting together on a rock looking down at the lake below.

She has to admit, for all this moon's downsides, the views are spectacular. Still… after they get off this rock she has no desire to ever come back, no matter how good some of the memories here might be.

"Thea would like this," he says suddenly, his voice soft and far away as he looks down over the snowy landscape below.

It's the first he's mentioned his sister in two weeks. It's the first _either_ of them have mentioned anyone on the ship since they got here, now that she thinks about it. Beyond the vague ' _They're coming. We'll be rescued soon'_ statement in the first few days. She's tried not to think about their ship's fate. About Digg and Sara and Kaylee. The longer they're here, the more she worries they're the only ones who made it. But she hasn't dared bring that up to Oliver. The last thing he needs is to worry about his crew and his ship right now.

"She would?" Felicity asks surprised.

"Well, she would if there were a cabin with a roaring fire nearby," he clarifies with a thin twist of his lips that might be a smile if it weren't also tinged with worry. "Thea always loved the snow. My dad used to have business trips to Beaumonde all the time when we were growing up. Thea would _beg_ to go with. Sometimes he'd cave. Mom and Thea and I would head up north to this ski lodge and dad would meet up with us at some point. I found out later Thea thought the lodge itself was named Beaumonde. She didn't even know it was the name of the planet."

"That sounds like a really nice memory," Felicity tells him after a moment.

He turns and looks at her with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It is," he agrees.

"We should go," she says impulsively.

"You want to keep walking?" he asks.

"No. Well, I mean _yes_ , but I mean to Beaumonde," she clarifies. "With Thea. After all of this."

"I thought you'd had enough of snow?" he asks.

"I don't think I'd mind so much if there were hot cocoa and a warm bed nearby," she tells him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "As long as you're there, too."

"If you're there, I'm there," he tells her immediately, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before standing and offering her a hand to help her up. "Let's get moving."

They don't talk about Thea again. He's obviously worried and there's no doubt that his concern is well-founded. The more time that passes, the less certain anything is. But they'll get by on hope and forward motion, just like they have so far.

Snow crunches under their shoes as they cut a jagged trail through the wilderness. Twice they see tracks that look like they're from some kind of small animal. It's a damned good sign. Oliver thinks there might be rabbits and while Felicity is internally a little horrified at the idea of eating something fluffy and cute like bunnies, she's also really, _really_ tired of fish.

"We should turn around soon," she says. "We can come back tomorrow or the next day, go a little further and see if we find any other trace of animals."

"Hold on," Oliver says, holding up a hand.

She stops, watches him as he concentrates, obviously listening for something.

"Do you hear that?" he asks.

"Hear what?" she questions.

"This way," he replies, nodding further west.

"Oliver…" she starts, but her voice trails off quickly as they pass an outcropping of rock revealing the terrain beyond.

Her eyes widen as she takes it in, wondering if this is a mirage or if they are _actually_ this lucky.

"Is that… _oh my god_ is that what I think it is?" Felicity asks breathlessly with a little gasp of delight.

A few feet in front of them is a bubbling swimming pool-sized body of water, steam rising off of it and no snow covering the ground for a few feet around it. Instead, there's a thick layer of moss and small plants thriving in the ambient warmth.

"Looks like a hot spring," Oliver confirms with a grin.

It's almost _absurd_ how gleeful that makes her. She jumps and excitedly grabs Oliver by the arm.

"We can _bathe_?" she asks, eyes alight and hopeful.

Because… _yeah_ , it's been a while. She's feeling a little ripe and the idea of a hot bath seemed like an impossible dream just five minutes ago.

"Maybe!" he says, with a grin that matches hers. "Some hot springs are way too hot to touch. We'll just have to check this one and cross our fingers."

"My fingers are crossed," she nods firmly. "My toes are crossed. Everything crossable is crossed. A _bath_ , Oliver!"

"Believe me. I'm with you," Oliver says laughing a little. "There is absolutely nothing I would love more right now than to take a bath with you."

And… _oh wow_ that's a whole different level of wanting to take a bath than had been in her brain before, but now that he mentions it…

"So, how do we test the temperature?" she asks.

He shrugs, breaks a small branch off of a nearby tree and sticks it in the water. She's not sure quite what she expected to happen. Hell, she doesn't really know what would happen if it were scorching hot. Would it catch on fire? Turn the hot spring into exceedingly weak tea?

Oliver pulls the branch back out and lets a drop of the water fall onto his hand.

"Oliver!" she shouts, a little concerned because honestly burns are way up there on the list of things they don't need to deal with.

But he just grins in reply and kneels down to quickly touch the water. The barely-there touch of his hand to the water is followed by an even bigger smile as he full-on sticks his hand in the pool.

"It's _perfect_ ," he announces with delight.

"Really?" she asks, so excited that she's actually a little hesitant to believe him.

Not that he'd kid about something as serious as a hot bath. He's not that mean and frankly his sense of self-preservation is better than that.

"Really," he confirms, standing back up. "It's like bath water."

"It _is_ bath water!" she corrects, tugging her jacket off and her shirt over her head with record speed. "Come on!"

Probably he shouldn't move as fast as he does. His leg is still healing after a pretty serious infection, after all, but he somehow manages to get naked before she does. He turns, stretches out his hand to her as she slips off the rest of her clothing and leads them both into the blissfully warm water.

"Oh my _god_ this is amazing," she breathes as they sink into the heat of the natural pool. "I may never get out."

She can practically feel the grime melt away off of her skin. The spring is probably great for Oliver's leg, too. She thinks she read somewhere once about therapeutic properties of hot springs, something about minerals in the waters. She's not sure, but if nothing else the heat should soothe his wound. It's sure as hell soothing her aches.

She ducks her head beneath the water and lets her hair float around her face for a moment. Forget that there's no soap, no shampoo. She feels _clean_ for the first time in weeks. And it's amazing.

The surface of the water breaks as she stands back up and groans in delight, wrapping her arm around Oliver's neck.

"That good, huh?" he asks, settling his hands on her waist and pulling her closer.

"Completely," she sighs in contentment.

"I'd sort of hoped I was the only one who could get you to make noises like that," he teases, sliding his hands down to palm her ass.

"Well… you _did_ find the hot spring. So… technically…" she counters lightly, pressing up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"As long as I get the credit," he murmurs, tugging her closer and kissing her soundly.

And… oh this is the best day she's had in a long, _long_ time. She hums happily before backing off slightly, biting her lip as she puts a few feet between them. The look on his face might as well be a giant question mark, but it's something she answers nearly immediately with a playful splash in his direction.

The surprised look on his face lasts only a moment.

"Oh really?" he asks, shaking the water out of his hair as she splashes again. "So, that's how it is?"

She shrieks in delight as he dives for her. Pushing off the ground, she gets a little bit in the way of momentum, but Oliver is faster. Of _course_ he is. He's _Oliver_.

He grabs her by the ankle, drags her back to him while she squeals and laughs. His fingers find her sides, those sensitive spots he discovered in wholly different circumstances not terribly long ago, and the play of his fingertips against her skin leaves her in peals of laughter.

"Truce! Truce!" she shrieks between gasps of laughter as he tickles her.

That's when she finds herself underwater, surfacing with a sputter a second later to find him laughing and pulling her closer.

"Yeah, I'll give you a truce," he says with a grin.

"You'd better. If you know what's good for you," she tells him, a challenge ringing in her voice as she wraps her legs around his hips.

"You," he says, leaning in and kissing her. " _You're_ good for me."

"Good answer, Captain," she whispers against his lips.

She melts against him, all boneless and at ease. There's no peace she's ever known like she finds when she's in his arms. It ignites her and calms her, excites her and soothes her. It's paradoxical and perfect and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the entire 'verse ever.

Her body curls into his and her fingers stroke down the sides of his face as he kisses her, his hands holding her body close against his.

"We should do something about this," she says when they part, running her fingers through the fairly substantial beard he's grown in recent days.

"Not a fan of the mountain man look?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Mmmm, I'm a fan of _you_ but the full beard is a bit much," she admits.

"Hard to cut it without a mirror," he tells her with a half-smile.

"Not if I do it," she proposes, raising her eyebrows at him as she trails her fingers along his jawline.

His breath catches in his throat and his eyes shut as he turns his head to kiss her fingertips. Yeah… he _really_ likes that idea.

"Did you bring the medical kit?" he asks, voice low and ridiculously intense in a way that never fails to make her insides turn to total mush.

"Yes," she tells him a little breathlessly.

"So you've got the scissors?" he asks, kissing her fingertips again as he watches her.

"Yes," she manages again.

"How about you grab them?"

He doesn't have to suggest it twice. She's fully on board with this plan.

There's no mistaking the weight of his gaze on her as she pulls away and walks out of the water. If she sways her hips a little more than strictly necessary, the groan she hears from behind her makes it completely worth it.

The air is even colder coming out of the spring, it's blissful heat leeching away rapidly with steam rising from her body, but it's not the temperature that puts speed in her steps. It's Oliver. It's the intimate knowledge of what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms combined with the confidence that he's finally _better_ , that neither one of them is precariously ill, and he's _right there_ and she'd much rather be intertwined with him than anywhere else.

She hops while she digs through the bag, trying to keep moving for the sake of warmth. They don't have towels, of course, and it occurs to her that no matter how warm that spring makes them, they're going to be really, _really_ cold with only Roy's overused jacket to dry off with.

That's a problem for later, though. She's not going to worry about that at the moment. Not when there's a naked Oliver in warm water a few feet away. She has priorities after all.

Next time they come here they'll be better prepared, she resolves. They'll bring the sleeping bag and they can cuddle up next to the spring after their bath, sharing body heat as they dry. Maybe if Oliver's leg is better enough they can share _more_ than body heat. Injuries and illness aside, keeping her hands from exploring his body and the reactions she can coax out of him has proven exceedingly difficult. She'd very much like to be done with that, thanks.

With a little cry of victory, she pulls the scissors from the bag and holds them up in triumph. Oliver's a few feet away, shaking his head at her with that look on his face she's come to realize means she's somehow charmed him.

"Get back here," he says, his voice as warm and welcoming as she knows the water is.

She does, sinking gratefully back into the water and swimming the few feet to him with the scissors in her hands. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her flush against him as soon as she's within reach.

"It's _cold_ out there," she murmurs.

"Good thing you're in here then," he replies, hands bracing against her back as he kisses her with the kind of excitement and fire she hopes never dulls between them.

"Yeah," she breathes into his mouth as she wraps her arms around his neck. "So… how short do you want the beard?"

"Up to you," he replies. "I can't even see it. It doesn't matter to me."

"Hmmm…" she mulls, running the fingers of her free hand along his jaw. "I'm thinking maybe I-ran-out-of-sports-bottles short."

"Are you _ever_ going to let me live that down?" he asks, grinning in a way that lights up his eyes beautifully.

" _Nope_ ," she over enunciates with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "I think you might just have to put up with it for the rest of your life."

The look on his face turns serious, heavy in a way that doesn't quite fit with the lightness of their day so far, and she doesn't immediately understand why. But then his fingers push her hair behind her ears and his hands linger on her face while his eyes bare his soul to her, all openness and vulnerability.

"Looking forward to it," he tells her with searing intensity.

And… _oh_. _Oh_ , that says… that says a lot. He hasn't exactly been subtle thus far about the sort of future he pictures with her. The comment when he'd given her the ring had stolen her breath away. But this is somehow more. There are no pretenses. He's openly expressing what he wants for them, for himself, in a way that she would never have believed possible just a few weeks before.

Apparently when Oliver says he's all in, he really, _really_ means it. And that deserves some kind of response.

"Me too," she echoes with equal gravity.

There's a long moment where they just look at each other. Intimacy and tension of the very best kind hangs heavily in the air and both of them seem hesitant to do anything to disturb that, even for something like a kiss. But, eventually, she can't help it.

Her lips meet his and it tastes like forever.

When they part and he leans his forehead against hers, he sighs with something that sounds like peace. And she savors that, the knowledge that even with all he's been through, even with all they're _going_ through, she can bring him that.

"Come on," she tells him after a moment. "Sit down."

There's a rock ledge in the water, a natural seat formed by eons of geological development, and it serves their current purposes perfectly. He sits, the water still up to his collarbones, and she straddles him, taking his face in her hands. Instantly, his hands go to her hips, either to keep her pressed against him or possibly to prevent her from moving, and his eyes slam shut as a pained noise catches in his throat.

"You're going to have to hold still, you know," she reminds him, nodding toward the scissors still in her hands.

"Yup, I… Yeah, I got that," he grits out with some effort.

It is, quite obviously, a struggle for him. But not for the reasons someone might have expected for a man who had spent so many years unable to trust anyone at all. His trust in her is unquestionable. He doesn't flinch away at the feel of the scissor's blades. No, his struggle is rooted in an entirely different base reaction.

Her fingers work their way through his beard, her concentration entirely focused on the task at hand as she clips and cleans away weeks of growth. But his grip on her hips is tight and the press of his hardened cock against her core where she's seated atop him is utterly undeniable. Still, even with all of that, possibly the most telling moment is when she tilts his head backwards to work on the underside of his jaw and he outright moans in response.

"Shhh," she urges as his breathing speeds up and his hands drift to pull her closer by her ass. "I'm almost done."

" _Good_ ," he manages, struggling not to move his jaw as he talks.

It's no simple thing to keep her fingers steady when he makes unspoken promises like _that_. Still, she finishes the task at hand fairly quickly and the result is more than satisfactory.

"Are you done?" he asks weightily as her hand falls away.

"I think so," she answers, running her hands over his stubble.

"Good," he growls. "Then put the damned scissors down."

She tosses them to the shore immediately. She's pretty sure his lips are on hers before the sheers even land. There is a hunger and an intent in this kiss that's both new and thrilling. It feels like he's trying to devour her and _god_ she is more than ready to let him.

"Oliver, your leg," she mewls in half-protest as he kisses his way down her neck.

"It's fine," he replies, scraping his teeth against her collarbone in a way that makes her hips roll against his and her breath get stuck in her lungs. "I need you."

Words aren't quite working for her right now, but she nods furiously and makes some kind of noise that she's pretty sure he correctly interprets as ' _God, yes please_ ,' because a second later he's lifting them up out of the water, carrying her as effortlessly as a feather. He never stops kissing her as he lays her down on the mossy ground beside the spring.

Honestly, she doesn't even feel the cold this time, not with the way his lips burn a trail down her body.

He sucks at a spot on her hip that she hadn't even realized was _there_ , but it leaves her gasping his name and arching her back as he alternates between teeth and suction leaving her something of an incoherent but delighted mess of heightened nerves. The scrape of his newly shorn beard trails down her hip, across her inner thigh, leaving a delicious burn that only serves to make her ache more in its wake. But her brain shorts out entirely when he draws one of her legs over his shoulder and stares up at her with clear intent burning in his eyes.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't envisioned this a hundred times, the sight of his face staring back up at her from between her thighs, but this is a thousand times better. This is rooted in freely expressed love and edged with shades of forever. If her heart were beating any faster, she thinks it might explode.

The anticipation is a little much for her. Felicity's never been the most patient soul and honestly she was stretching the limits of her self-restraint by the end of the first day here. Her hips rock a little bit towards him, eager and wanting, and her hand settles on the back of his head as she bites her lip and lets out a little whimper of desire.

The way he smirks at her before lowering his mouth is damned near her undoing.

"Oh god, _oh god_ ," she breathes out, her fingers tightening in his hair as the heat of his mouth closes around her clit and his fingers sink into her. " _Oliver_."

She's not positive, but she'd bet everything she has that he's smiling.

His free arm pins her hips down as he works her up. The fingers buried inside her pump steadily even as he alternates what he's doing with his mouth. One moment it's all slick heat that laves at her opening, the next it's firm suction or a flick of his tongue against her clit, but no matter what he's doing it's absolutely perfect.

He winds her up so quickly that it actually takes her by surprise when she comes.

She knows she's saying something, babbling, but she's got no idea what. She feels like she's shattering, like she's flying apart into a million little pieces as her fingers grip his hair and her heels dig into his back. The look on his face as he watches her, his fingers still moving inside her, his thumb continuing to work at her clit, is damned near enough to make her crest again. His chin is wet with her and his pupils are blown wide, pride and desire shading every aspect of his face.

She's breathless, her body sated but her heart still wanting more, more of this, more of him. She wants all of him. She wants that for them both.

His lips find that spot on her hip again, a gentler kiss this time, cherishing but firm in their press against her skin. They work their way upwards from there, a blazing trail of worshipful kisses traced across her skin until he reaches her mouth. She'd nearly caught her breath then, but the way he sucks her lower lip between his takes it away all over again.

"I want you," she sighs between kisses. "All of you. I need you inside me, Oliver."

He groans and presses his forehead to hers.

"Felicity… we don't have a condom," he says, his voice full of longing and regret.

"What are you talking about? Yes we do," she counters.

"... _What_?" he asks, looking like maybe he thinks he heard her wrong.

"There's got to be like… seventeen that were stashed in the pocket of Roy's jacket," she replies.

She could have _sworn_ she'd told him this, but from the look on his face, she's thinking probably this is a conversation she had with him in her head. Oops?

There's a strange mix of thoughts that cross his face. Surprise shifts to excitement shifts to a tightened brow in very quick succession.

"You're telling me that my sister's boyfriend had _seventeen_ condoms in his jacket pocket?" he asks finally, his voice edging on something dark and threatening.

It's probably a good thing Roy is nowhere nearby. Wherever he is right now has _got_ to be better than here.

" _That's_ what you took from that?" she asks him, kissing the tight line of his lips. "At least you know they're being safe."

He grunts in something that isn't quite an agreement, but his mild grouchiness stays in place until she trails her mouth to the underside of his chin and nips at his skin.

"And now _we_ can be safe, too," she points out as she digs her heels into his ass and he groans. "Let's not look a gift-condom in the mouth… that came out weird. I don't think that metaphor works."

He laughs, sharp and disbelieving as he looks at her and shakes his head.

"Did you bring them with you?" he asks after a moment.

"They're still in the jacket," she replies, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Grab one," he tells her, kissing her swiftly and rolling off of her onto his side.

"Just one?" she asks as she gets to her feet.

"I don't know if you were exaggerating or not when you said there were 17-"

"Oh, I wasn't," Felicity tells him, looking over her shoulder as she walks over to pick up the jacket. "Apparently Roy was _super_ hopeful when he went to pick up Thea."

"Let's… not focus on that at the moment please," Oliver says, blinking and pulling a face.

"Believe me, the only thing I'm focusing on right now… is you," Felicity tells him, holding up a foil packet between two fingers and turning back towards him. "So… one?"

"I'm going to want you just as much tomorrow, Felicity," he tells her. "And the day after that and the one after that. We don't know how long we'll be here. So… yeah, just one."

"Okay," she smiles back, biting her lip to hold in her joy just a little bit.

For two weeks they've been lost out here. She's lost weight she really didn't need to. Neither of them have brushed their teeth. She hasn't been able to shave or brush her hair since they got here. But he looks at her like none of that matters, like she's everything he wants and the most beautiful thing he's ever seen all at once. Sometimes the way he looks at her just takes her breath away.

Like now.

She walks back over and pushes his shoulder lightly until he's on his back, propped up only by his forearms against the moss. It's a hell of a sight. It sorta makes her wish she had a photographic memory because _wow_.

"Why are you just standing there?" he asks after a second.

"I'm trying to burn this into my brain," she replies. "You are ridiculously hot, you know that?"

"Get down here," he laughs, sitting up and tugging on the backs of her knees until she's straddling his thighs.

"Hi," she grins once they're nose-to-nose.

"Hi," he replies, delight obvious on his face. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she tells him, pecking him on the lips three times in quick succession, lingering a little longer each time.

To say that she's careful about tearing through the foil packet holding the condom is an understatement. He's right about the limited supply and there's no way she's wasting one by accidentally ripping it. And her caution pays off. A second later she's tossing the packaging aside and unrolling the condom down his very erect cock as he groans and presses his forehead to hers.

"Felicity," he sighs as her hand trails up and down his length for a moment.

She stills her hand and his blue eyes meet hers. There's so much unguarded emotion there. And everything she sees in him is exactly what she's feeling. It's deeply intimate and she feels strangely anchored in this moment.

With her eyes still locked on his, she rises up on her knees, steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder and sinks down onto him.

His eyes flutter and his jaw goes a little slack for a second before he exhales a steadying breath and kisses her deeply. Her hands can't help but map him out, his face, his chest, his shoulders. His seem focused mostly on her back, fingers splayed wide across the breadth of it as his hands trail up and down her spine.

It's perfect. It's _perfect_. This isn't an easy position to thrust in, but he's so deep inside her and the intimacy is so high that it doesn't really matter that all they really have the leverage to do is rock into each other. It's tidal, almost, a slow build of swells that draw them both ever-higher.

His eyes never leave hers. She sees every last thing he's feeling, watches every little twinge of emotion play across his face. This is far from her first time, but it's definitely the first time she's felt this connected to someone.

" _Oh_ ," she sighs, rocking a little harder as she rubs against his pelvic bone in the best possible way. "Oliver…"

She tries to keep her eyes open and locked on him when she comes, but she can't. It's a quieter orgasm than before that washes over her, less earth-shattering in its physicality but no less intense. She shudders as her body clenches around him and he peppers kisses across her flushed face.

"You're so beautiful when you come," he tells her, lips pressed to her temple.

"Mmmm," she hums happily. "You, too. I'd really like a reminder, in fact."

He groans as she pushes on his shoulder a little until he's lying back fully on the moss. The shift in their angle gives her the freedom to really ride him the way she's almost certain he wants. From the way he pants and grips her hips as she drives her body down onto his, she figures she was right.

"Felicity," he groans, hips jerking up to meet hers with every increasingly frantic thrust.

His grip is literally pulling her down to grind harder against him on every downstroke and oh _holy shit_ that's incredible. Something coils in her belly, deep and low and wholly unexpected because there's just no way she's going to orgasm a third time. That's not a thing that happens to her. Except - apparently - with Oliver it is. The way her body tightens in anticipation is blinding. Oliver must see it coming. He's chasing his own bliss at this point, too, but his hand reaches between them and finds the swollen bundle of nerves desperate for his touch and she _breaks_ around him.

"Oh god, _Oliver._ Oliver, oh _, oh,"_ she sobs thrashing above him as he hammers up into her and his thumb massages her clit furiously.

It's so overwhelming that she almost misses as he chokes on his own breath and spills himself inside her. _Almost_. She reopens her eyes just in time to see as the moment overtakes him, too. And, oh, is that a sight to behold.

Her heart pounds furiously in the aftermath. Her muscles spent, she damned near collapses on him, his cock still twitching inside her.

"We are… absurdly good at that," she mutters into his chest after a moment of trying to control her own breathing. "We deserve a medal or something."

He laughs, which is a beautiful sound even if it admittedly _does_ feel a little funny with him still inside her.

"God, I love you," he says grinning down at her.

She smiles and kisses him in reply.

"We should get back," she tells him with a note of regret. "It's getting late and I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite."

"Yeah," he agrees. "It looks like there might be a storm rolling in anyhow. We don't want to be caught away from camp if it gets heavy."

He's right. The sky looks ominous.

She slides off of him, sighing a little at the loss of his body buried within her. Sixteen more condoms is definitely not enough. But there's not exactly anything they can do about it.

"Let's get going then," she says, offering him a hand up.

"We'll come back tomorrow," he promises her, kissing her shoulder as she snaps on her bra.

"And the next day, and the next," she tells him, looking over her shoulder. "Maybe we should just _move_ here."

"It's not as well protected from the elements," he points out. "But I am glad it's nearby. I wish we'd found it earlier."

"Me too," she agrees, tugging her shirt over her head and grabbing Roy's jacket. "But at least we found it now."

"Yeah," he smiles at her, grabbing her hand and kissing her fingers. "I'm glad we found it now."

From the way he says it, she wonders if maybe he's talking about something else entirely.

They walk hand-in-hand back down the trail they'd blazed before, snow crunching underfoot as the nearby planet looms large overhead, blocked in large part by heavy clouds. They don't talk much, just shoot happy, knowing glances at each other.

She's wrapped up enough in him that they end up at the entrance to their little cave before she realizes where they are. She thinks that Oliver seems just as distracted as her, dropping kisses on top of her head and tracing his thumb across hers as they walk.

It's a theory that's proven absolutely correct when someone clears their throat and both of them jump.

"Well now, if it isn't Oliver Queen," calls an unfamiliar voice.

Felicity shrieks a little and stops dead in her tracks at the sight of five heavily armed strangers. Oliver's grip on her arm tightens almost painfully as he jolts into alertness.

"We've been looking for you," the man says, stepping closer as the other four men surround them. "Somehow I suspect this little reunion is going to go a lot better for the boss than it is for you, Queen."

Oliver's instantly in survival-mode. She can see it. His eyes dart around their cave, trying to find a way out, a way to save _her_.

"Bind his hands behind him," the same man says. "If he fights you, shoot the girl."

That's when she knows they've lost.


	26. Chapter 26

Panic is too mild a word for what Oliver is feeling. Reavers would be better than this. Them he could kill. Them he could save Felicity from. Bertinelli's men? They're a lot more dangerous.

He knows all of the men that surround them. Once upon a time, he'd spent months gaining their trust. He remembers shooting alongside Salvati and drinking with Copani and putting up with DiStefano's not-entirely-good-natured ribbing about him and Helena. He _knows_ these men. And that makes this all so much worse because he's very clear about what they're capable of.

He wants Felicity nowhere near them. On a very primal level.

But their options have just run out. He's got no plan, no escape path, no way to keep her safe. Except, perhaps, to downplay her importance to him.

Nothing good can come of these men realizing what she means to him.

 _Nothing_.

There's no doubt that whatever he does, Felicity will follow his lead. They've always been in tune and she's one of the most intelligent people he's ever met. Still, he spares her a weighted glance, brief but rife with meaning, before he lets go of her arm and looks toward Nick Salvati.

"Like you're gonna shoot one of Frank's bounty hunters?" Oliver scoffs. "Let's pretend that's gonna happen, Nick. But whatever. I'm not going to give you trouble. Anything's better than being stuck out here after two weeks."

"Frank's bounty hunter?" Salvati asks, disbelief incredibly obvious in his tone. "No way she's a bounty hunter and no _way_ she works for the family."

"I'd remember her," DiStefano agrees with a leer that Oliver really wants to punch right off his face.

"I'm my own boss," Felicity asserts, crossing her arms and glaring at Bertinelli's men. "I go where the money is and Frank's more than happy to pay for this problem to be brought in."

"She doesn't look like a bounty hunter," DiStefano argues.

"And you don't look Italian," Oliver shrugs. "But here we are anyhow."

Salvati and the others smirk at that. It's a throwback to a dozen taunts thrown DiStefano's way years ago. Hell, it's a taunt they're probably still tossing his way. Marco DiStefano is a redheaded, green-eyed beast of a man. His father, on the other hand, is probably shorter than Felicity with the darkest hair and eyes that Oliver has ever seen. DiStefano Junior could not look less like his father if he tried.

"If you're a bounty hunter, what the hell are you two doing all the way out here? An' lookin' awfully cozy while you're at it?" Salvati challenges, looking Felicity straight in the eye.

" _Someone_ shot up the ship and our escape pod. We crashed," Felicity tells him. "And you try surviving out here without sharing body heat with someone. I like credits, but I like not freezing to death even more."

"Yeah, I bet you 'shared body heat,'" DiStefano laughs, shaking his head. "Even stuck in a damn cave on this frozen hellhole for weeks, this jackass has got game. It figures. Man, you gotta teach me your ways."

"Shut the fuck up, Marco," Salvati says with a dark look. "In case you forgot, he cost us a damned fortune. He's not your _drinking buddy_ anymore. Only reason we aren't gutting him right here is the boss probably wants to do it herself."

"Herself?" Oliver asks sharply. " _Her_ self?"

"Yeah," Nick confirms as one of the others cuffs Oliver's hands behind his back. "You think Frank's got time for the legitimate side of the business after what you did? He's two solar systems away running guns and collecting tribute from some of the businesses under our protection. Gotta make up that deficit somehow. Officially, he handed the reins here over to Helena."

Oliver's blood goes very cold at that.

"Oh, that… would be a bad thing for you, wouldn't it?" Nick asks with faux-concern. "After how you left things with her. But, I guess you never know. Maybe she's the forgiving sort. Can't say I'd count on it, though."

There are a thousand things he wants to tell Felicity in this moment. That Frank almost certainly _does_ have bounty hunters after him and he probably has no idea who they all are. That everything he ever had with Helena was twisted and dark and horribly misguided. That the very last thing in the entire 'verse he can let happen is for Helena to find out he's madly in love with Felicity. But he can't say any of these things. Not here. Not with Nick Salvati and his cronies surrounding them, able to hear every word.

"You tell me," Oliver says instead. "She forgiven her father yet for Michael's death?"

"Ain't his fault she's got shitty taste in men," Nick counters. "All pretty-faced disloyal rats. Now move your ass. It's cold out here."

Their guns are pointed at both him and Felicity, but they don't cuff her. That's _something_ anyhow.

He clenches his jaw and tries not to grit his teeth when the mobsters pat him and Felicity both down looking for weapons - which they find stowed away in the backpack. He wants to break every last one of DiStefano's fingers for the way they linger on Felicity's ass.

"If I _had_ another gun, I'd shoot you for that," she bites out at the redhead. "Get your hands off me."

In spite of the incredibly awful situation, Oliver can't fight off the smile and swell of pride that well up within him.

"Just bein' careful, sweetheart. You know how it is, right? Bein' a bounty hunter and all?" he winks, visibly giving her ass a squeeze before stepping back. "She's clean."

"And you're a filthy piece of shit," Salvati tells him. "Stop fucking around with the girl. If she really is a bounty hunter she's gonna have no problem killing you. Don't be an idiot."

Bertinelli's men march them to a nearby short-range shuttle. It's small and blissfully warm, but he'd still give absolutely anything to roll back the clock an hour or so and be in the hot spring with Felicity in his arms instead. She doesn't sit near him now, which is wise because Salvati is watching her like a hawk waiting for prey to slip up, but he still chafes at the distance between them.

He needs to focus, needs to find them a way out of this. But opportunities are slim and the danger to them is immediate. All he can think about is keeping Felicity away from Helena. He wonders if she's come up with anything, if that brilliant mind of hers has concocted some sort of scheme to save them both.

"Hey, so, anybody got any breath mints?" Felicity asks, looking around at the mobsters.

They blink at her blankly like they all think they must have heard her wrong. It's so Felicity though that his heart hurts at the sound of her voice.

"Steady diet of fish and roots for two weeks with no toothbrush. _Trust me_ , it's at least as much for your benefit as it is mine," she says, scrunching up her nose adorably as she speaks.

 _God_ he wants to kiss her.

"Poletti," Salvati says, nodding his head towards one of the men who has kept silent thus far.

The henchman in question, a stout man with a proud nose and a weak chin whose bald head makes him seem older than he really is, pulls a face but digs into his pocket and takes out a tin which he tosses to Felicity.

She very nearly catches it.

"Thanks!" she says brightly, popping three in her mouth and sighing, shutting her eyes and humming in appreciation as the peppermint flavor rolls over her tongue.

It strikes him - suddenly, stupidly and with horrible timing - that this is one of the things he loves most about her. Not her appreciation of peppermint, obviously, but her ability to find something to savor in a moment like this. They are literally being held at gunpoint by half a dozen mafiosos who most certainly intend to kill them both in slow, excruciating and probably inventive ways. But here she is, eyes closed and smiling because of a handful of mints.

No matter how bad things get, she holds onto the good. She always has. And maybe she helps him do the same. Maybe she reminds him of all the things in life worth enjoying.

"You would not _believe_ how great mints are right now. Wow," Felicity says a moment later, her words a little muffled as she's clearly shifting the dissolving mints around on her tongue.

She moves to get up and three guns are suddenly very focused on her. It sets a panic through Oliver's veins that surpasses everything so far. He tenses, ready to throw himself in front of her if necessary. It's instinct. He has to save her. He _needs_ to save her. But no one flips their safeties and she puts both hands up, the tin of breath mints still held between her fingers.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Salvati asks.

"Giving him a breath mint?" Felicity replies, nodding her head towards Oliver.

"Sit your ass down and toss it to him," Salvati orders.

"You have his hands cuffed behind his back. He can't catch it," Felicity points out. "Even if I were inclined to, I can't free him with nothing but a tin of breath mints and all of the guns trained on me. I'm a bounty hunter, not a magician."

Salvati's never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but it's still sort of ridiculous the way his eyes narrow at her like he's trying to figure out if she's telling the truth or not. Oliver's gotten out of a lot of tough spots with little more than grit and sheer will, but even he has a hard time seeing how this ends well for them. Eventually Salvati gives a grunt of approval and nods, his men lowering their guns in response.

"So that's a yes, then?" Felicity asks, hands still raised.

"Give him the damned mints," Salvati agrees with a dismissive air. "You two smell as bad as you look."

For a second, Felicity looks like she's about to defend them, point out that two weeks in the wilderness are hardly beneficial to anyone's hygiene, but ultimately she holds her tongue. Somehow. It's sort of a minor miracle, really. She's not exactly prone to holding back when she has something to say. But, apparently, something clicks and she refocuses on the task at hand.

She walks across the shuttle to where he's sitting, keeping her back to the men. They still can't talk. Not without being overheard, anyhow. So he tries to speak with his eyes, tell her he loves her and he's sorry - he's _so sorry_. That he'd do anything at all to get her out of here safely.

The tiny, sad smile she gives him says as clearly as any words that she understands. She pops open the tin and he parts his lips for her to place a few of the mints on his tongue. Her fingers linger, trace the curve of his lip and stroke his cheek for just a second. It's a strangely intimate moment, riddled with longing and desperation. Everything in him tries to hold on to it, make it last as long as it can. The danger surrounding them is very real and he's quite aware that this might be the last time she ever touches him.

 _I love you_ , she mouths to him. He can't help but turn his head slightly to kiss her hand.

"Aren't you done yet?" Salvati asks, annoyance ringing in his voice. "Hurry it up and sit your ass back down before I make you."

Her hand pulls away from Oliver's face and the sense of loss that rips through him is hollowing.

She goes back to her seat silently and neither of them speak for the rest of the way to the mafia's compound. He does his best not to look at her the rest of the way either. He'd rather not give the men more ammunition than they already have. But he can feel her gaze burning his skin.

If she weren't here, he would risk it. He would charge the men, handcuffed or not, try to crash the shuttle. But they're long odds and while he's pretty positive that his torture and eventual demise is a sure thing in the hands of the Bertinellis, hers isn't. Will Frank buy that she's a bounty hunter? Will Helena? Will they let her go unharmed? He doesn't know, but the odds of that happening are significantly better than the odds of them both surviving him attempting to take the shuttle. So he waits. He does nothing. Because it's her best chance.

Ultimately, the Bertinelli compound is exactly as he remembers it. He can see the small building he'd called home for months as their shuttle lands. But it brings with it no feelings he associates with the word. He has no nostalgia for this place.

Their cave on the lake was more a home than this ever was.

"Move it," Salvati says as the engine powers down, prodding Oliver's flank with the muzzle of his gun.

"Where are you taking us?" Felicity asks.

Oliver can hear the worry in her voice.

"To see the boss," Salvati says with a somewhat nasty look on his face that Oliver would really like to wipe off of it.

Two of Salvati's grunts snicker. Oliver's not sure what to make of that, but he's positive he doesn't like it.

Felicity peppers the men with more questions right up until Salvati threatens her and literally shoves her to get her off the shuttle. She collides right into Oliver and even with his hands cuffed behind him, he manages to steady her. They don't fall into the thick snow piling up around the camp, but it's a near thing.

"This way," Salvati says, his voice gruff and unfeeling as he points in the direction of the largest building with his gun.

Oliver knows exactly where they're going, though. He's spent time there before. He can picture the room perfectly, Bertinelli's interrogation room. They'll cuff his arms to the ceiling high enough that he'll barely be able to reach the ground with his feet. They'll come at him with questions. Or maybe they won't, actually. He's not sure they want anything from him but pain at this point. Maybe it will just be freezing cold and blistering heat, starvation and dehydration, punches and stabs and pulled off fingernails.

Yes, he knows well how this room works. He's just never been on this side of it before.

"You're bringing us _both_ there?" he questions.

"What's it to you?" Salvati asks, head cocked to the side appraisingly. "If she's a bounty hunter getting paid to turn you over, what do you care what happens to her?"

He shouldn't. Not from their perspective. Not with the story they're trying to sell. He knows that.

He gives a one-shouldered shrug and looks Salvati square in the eye.

"Call it a weakness for a pretty face," he says. "How do you think she caught me in the first place?"

"Maybe if you'd spent more time thinking with your head you wouldn't be here right now, then," Salvati says unsympathetically. "Walk faster."

He doesn't even look back at Salvati to confirm where he's supposed to go. There's literally no doubt in his mind. He just forces his feet to move him forward, one step at a time into the bowels of the main building.

Felicity fidgets a half-step behind him when they stop outside the heavy metal door. He can feel the weight of the questions she's not asking pressing down on him. But he can't answer them and even if he could, he's pretty sure he doesn't want to. He doesn't hide parts of himself from her - not anymore - but that doesn't mean he really wants her to see this part of his history clearly either. He did a lot of things when he was here last. Very few of them are things he's proud of.

"I'm sorry," he whispers as quietly as he possibly can.

He feels her stiffen behind him and knows she's heard. It's literally all he can offer her right now and part of him wonders if it doesn't do more harm than good.

One of Salvati's men pushes past them and shoves open the door, revealing the familiar dingy room Oliver had been expecting. There's a choked noise from Felicity, though, and he's positive that whatever she'd been picturing, it hadn't been this.

"She on her way?" Salvati asks Poletti.

"Yeah," Poletti confirms. "And she _smiled_."

As if things weren't already terrifying enough.

"String him up," Salvati commands.

"What? No!" Felicity protests as the men follow Salvati's commands.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. If your story checks out, you're in for a big payday," Salvati tells her with a tight, disbelieving look. "If it doesn't… well, we've only got this one room but we'll be done with it eventually."

"Check it out now," she demands. "Until I get paid, you've got no right to touch him. He's _my_ find. Contact Captain Malcolm Reynolds. He's the one I got the contract through."

"Reynolds?" Salvati blinks, looking towards his henchmen for clarification.

"Thief and gun-for-hire," Copani supplies. "He's got a piece of shit Firefly-class vessel. We used him once to break two of our guys out of holding on Regina."

"The guy with the mouthy pilot?" Salvati asks, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"And a companion on board," DiStefano provides with a raised eyebrow.

"He's small fish," Salvati says, clearly unimpressed. "And not a bounty hunter."

"Desperate times and all that," Felicity counters, voice firm and unyielding. "His ship's in bad shape and he needs the cash to fix her up. He heard somehow about the bounty and saw a way to make a quick buck. He's not a bounty hunter of course, but I am. Obviously. As I said. And, anyhow, I owed him a favor so he called it in. Simple as that. Call him. If you can't get him on a wave try going through Badger."

"That's… quite a story," Salvati says narrowing his eyes at her.

"One you can easily check," Felicity points out. "So maybe do that before you accidentally burn metaphorical bridges with a whole lot of people who have their hands in this pot of credits."

He exchanges a look with Poletti and the stouter man leaves with a nod of Salvati's head.

"If you're lying…" Salvati starts off.

"If I'm lying I'm an idiot," Felicity replies. "And while I'm a whole lot of things - including a bounty hunter - an idiot isn't one of them."

Salvati gives a grunt as he appraises her anew, looking at her like he's taking notice of her for the first time. And maybe he is. He knows Oliver, knows him well and trusts him appropriately very little. He knew Oliver was a threat from the start. But Felicity… she's small and slender and charming and endearingly awkward in a way that makes her seem innocent of all of this. But she's not. She's been with his crew for years. She's seen the dirty underbelly of this 'verse and she can give as good as she gets. Oliver has no clue if her Hail Mary of a plan will work, but it's better than he'd managed to come up with so he mentally crosses his fingers as the remaining mafiosos attach his handcuffs to a chain hanging from the ceiling and pull it taut.

"Hey!" Felicity snaps. "Money first!"

"Relax. I'm not going to break him," comes a voice from the doorway. "...Yet."

"Helena," Oliver replies in a pinched off greeting.

"Well… you've looked better, Oliver," she says, head tilted to the side as she looks him up and down before turning toward Felicity. "Who the hell are you?"

"Says she's a bounty hunter," Salvati replies, crossing his arms.

"Really?" Helena asks.

She pays far more attention to Felicity than Oliver would like as she speaks and it makes his hands itch with the need to pull her away, somewhere out of Helena's line of sight.

"Really," Felicity confirms, eyes darting toward Oliver for confirmation as she speaks.

Helena circles Felicity, scrutinizing her in great detail before she speaks.

"I doubt that."

"Got a man checking her story now," Salvati offers up.

"Good," Helena replies.

"Yeah. It is. And I don't need your approval," Salvati tells her, looking down at her with disdain.

"I thought she was ' _the boss_ ,'" Felicity asks, confused.

"On paper maybe," Salvati huffs, crossing his arms. "No way Bertinelli trusts her to be anything but a pretty face."

"We call her _the boss_ as a joke," DiStefano explains. "Cause it's funny, right? Like _Helena_ could be in charge."

"Shut up," Helena hisses. "I might be _in charge_ only on paper, but that's still better than you. You'll never be more than a grunt."

DiStefano has the nerve to _wink_ at her and if Oliver weren't aware of precisely how much more dangerous a pissed off Helena is to _him_ , he might somewhat pity the man. He clearly has no idea what sort of consequences Helena is capable of bringing down on him.

"Poletti's checking her story now," Salvati says. "Shouldn't take too long."

"Of course," Helena muses, all pouty-lipped and big-eyed. "You don't mind if we take a moment to catch up while we wait, do you, Nick?"

"We aren't leaving you alone with him, if that's what you're asking," Salvati replies. "Tossed aside or not, he's still your ex and ain't nobody here trusts you alone with him."

"Think I'm gonna set him free?" she questions, bemused look painting her face.

"I think you might gut him," Salvati answers.

Helena laughs, eyes flashing brightly, and Oliver realizes that while DiStefano might not understand Helena well, Salvati surely does.

"Now…" Helena says. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Felicity watches them both like a very worrying tennis match and Oliver can read the fear on her face clear as day. Now, maybe that could be written off as concern for herself, but at least two of the people in the room are probably too smart to reach that conclusion.

"Oliver," Helena says, turning on her heel to face him. "How long _has_ it been now?"

"Not long enough," Oliver replies immediately.

"I'd think so, too, in your shoes," she responds, looking down at his feet that barely touch the floor from the way he's stretched out. "Last time I saw you, you made me all _kinds_ of promises, didn't you? You didn't keep a single one. You _used_ me."

"We used each other," he counters. "I was just as much of a means to an end for you as you were for me. And you know it."

She's obviously less than pleased with his response but she doesn't reply directly. That in itself is slightly terrifying. She's looking for an in, a chink in his armor, some weakness to exploit that makes him hurt. And the answer, not that she knows it, is standing five feet behind her with two mafiosos holding her arms.

"You crashed here two weeks ago?" she asks.

"Yes," he replies. "You say that as if you weren't the ones that shot us down."

"Wasn't us," Helena says, glancing at Salvati who nods along. "We _would_ have, obviously, had we known you were there. But we didn't. Looks like you've got no shortage of enemies, Oliver."

She's not wrong on that count, anyhow.

"Two weeks is a _long_ time to be stuck out there," Helena notes. "All kinds of dangerous things make it hard to survive on this moon. I do wonder… how much it made its mark on you."

Her eyes linger on his thigh and it's only then that he realizes his wound is bleeding again. They've taxed it too much by stretching him out, forcing him to use the balls of his feet to stand on.

"This place scars us all, doesn't it, Oliver?" she asks, eyes murderously angry and unflinchingly cold at the same time.

He knows what she's going to do the instant before she does it, but knowing doesn't help him prepare. There is no way to prepare. Helena is bitter, violent and possibly a sociopath and she very deliberately takes a knife and stabs him in the thigh directly into his existing wound.

The pain is immediate. He doubles over, his arms jolting harshly as they pull against the chains, possibly dislocating one or both of his shoulders in the process. His vision swims and nausea nearly overwhelms him as every nerve ending in his leg seems to scream out in protest. He doesn't know if he makes noise. He probably does. He imagines he must. But all he can hear over the rush of his own blood pounding in his ears is Felicity's panicked cry.

He doesn't see her break free of the two men holding her back. He doesn't watch as she shoves Helena to the side and tries to support his weight with her small frame. He's in too much pain for any of that. But he does hear the low murmur of comforting words he can't make out and feel the press of her palm against his face and the near-frantic touch of her lips to his forehead.

"Right… she's just a _bounty hunter_ ," Helena croons as his hearing comes back to him. "I think you can call Poletti back. Checking her story seems… a waste of time."

Felicity doesn't back off at all. Her arms are wrapped around him and her cheek pressed to his chest as she watches Helena. He can't even hold her back. Not like this. In fact, there's very, very little he can do for her.

"Were you the one who stitched him up?" Helena asks Felicity, curiosity tinging her features as she picks at Felicity, tries to figure out what makes her tick. "Or did he do that himself."

"I did it. Twice," Felicity says proudly. "And I don't appreciate you making it so I'll have to do it a third time."

Helena laughs at that, loud and cold.

"Oh, _honey_. You think you're going to get to patch him up again?" Helena asks. "That's just adorable."

"Leave her alone," Oliver manages, swallowing back the urge to be sick.

"What was that?" Helena asks in faux-confusion. "It sounded like you expressed _concern_ for someone other than yourself. But that can't be right. Since when does your agenda leave room for anyone but _you_?"

"Wow, you just don't know him _at all_ , do you?" Felicity snaps.

"I know him every bit as… _intimately_ as you do," Helena taunts.

"You really, really don't," Felicity counters firmly. "Not if that's what you think about him."

Helena's apparently bored with taunting Felicity because her gaze jumps back up to Oliver where she tilts her head as she watches him.

"Does she know?" Helena questions. "About everything you've done? About the kind of person you _really_ are? About the scars she _can't_ see?"

"I don't keep secrets from her," Oliver replies in what might be the most honest answer of his life.

"I wasn't aware you knew _how_ to tell the truth," Helena bites out before her eye catches something and she blinks furiously.

It takes Oliver a moment to realize that she's staring at Felicity's hand.

"Did you _marry_ her?" Helena laughs, grabbing Felicity by the wrist for a second until she wrenches her fingers away from the maniacal woman. "Oliver Queen… _married_. Wow. And here I didn't even get an invitation to the ceremony. That was rude, don't you think?"

"Please, Helena," Oliver grits out. "She doesn't deserve this. She's better than you or me. Whatever you're going to do to me just… don't make her watch."

"Oliver, I'm _not_ leaving you," Felicity says alarmed, as her eyes dart up to meet his.

"You don't have a choice," Oliver points out. "And this is… not how I want you to remember me."

"Stop it!" Felicity demands. "Just stop. You aren't dying here, Oliver. She can't have you. You're… you're mine."

And, oh god, the way her voice breaks on that last word just about kills him. It's every bit as painful as the knife still embedded in his thigh.

"I am," he promises her. "Until my very last breath. But I don't want you to be there for that when it happens."

She's crumbling fast, crying and kissing him more than a little desperately. He can hear Salvati scoff in distaste in the background, but he can't care. It hardly registers. Not when he's got Felicity kissing him like their world is ending.

He wrenches himself away from her against his own will, trying to block out the low mournful noise she makes as he looks over her head to Helena. The dark-haired woman is watching them curiously, some scant flicker of emotion actually running through her eyes for once and Oliver knows immediately how best to capitalize on it.

"If you were in my shoes and it were Michael…" he starts, leaving the rest unsaid.

Helena flinches at that, huffs hard enough that her nostrils flare as she clenches her jaw.

"I'll think about it," she says after a moment. "No one's dying yet, anyhow. Not until we've talked to my father. For now, how about you just… hang in there?"

She forces a smirk on the end, like she wants to find it all funny but can't. He's cut as deeply with his pointed referencing of her dead fiance as she did with her knife.

Oliver actually sighs a small bit of relief at that. It's a stay of execution. For now.

"No way is she staying in here with him," Salvati announces, reminding Oliver that for all Helena's last name might be Bertinelli, she's not _really_ the one in charge. "Cuff her. Separate them. We can stash her somewhere else."

"No!" Felicity shouts, holding onto him tighter as DiStefano and Copani close in on her.

That's when the wall behind them blows up and part of the ceiling collapses.


	27. Chapter 27

If there's one thing that being a part of Oliver's crew has taught her, it's that an explosion rarely happens without another one following shortly thereafter. All right, if we're being fair she learned that years prior - her engineering hasn't always gone smoothly - but her time on Oliver's crew has only served to prove that true.

Instinct born of that admittedly hard-won lesson serves her well now. The ceiling crumbs above them, bits of debris both large and small raining down like a snowstorm made of concrete hail and powdered cement.

The blast rips Oliver's chains from the ceiling, leaving them both collapsing in a tangled heap of limbs on the hard floor. She curls into Oliver, trying to cover his body with hers as best she can.

Oliver, of course, does exactly the same thing.

They end up covering each other's heads with their arms, the chains still binding his wrists, and their legs intertwined as the building collapses around them. The mafia stronghold dies violently, all groaning twists of metal and thunderous pains of concrete crumbling to the ground, but even above the sounds of the attack she can hear Oliver's agonized cry as something hits the knife still embedded in his leg.

His face goes pale with pain and she can barely stand to look down at his poor thigh. A softball-sized piece of the ceiling has slammed down on the hilt of the knife, pulling it down and greatly worsening his wound. It's bleeding steadily, enough to worry her, and she can't quite tamp down the sense of panic that surges through her body.

"Oliver, hang on," she orders, kissing his brow as she strokes his face with shaky hands. "Honey, you have to hang on, okay? We're going to be all right. Just stay awake. Stay with me."

He doesn't pass out but he also doesn't tease her about calling him honey. He would have tossed back the same incredulous reply she'd give him just a few weeks ago, she's sure, had he not been in overwhelming pain. Instead, he just gives the smallest of nods as he bites his lip so hard it bleeds.

"I love you, okay? We're getting out of here. I promise. We're going to be okay," she vows.

She doesn't know why the explosion happened yet. She has _hopes_ of course, but she doesn't know and she's learned the hard way not to count on things like hope to save her. All the same, this is their chance and she's going to capitalize on it even if she has to carry Oliver out of her herself. Surely she's got enough adrenaline to do that by now.

Lifting her head enough to glance around their room, she can see DiStefano is out for the count - probably dead from the look of him - and one of Salvati's other goons nursing one hell of an injury to his midsection that definitely rules him out as a threat and is very likely to kill him. Salvati himself looks more pissed off than he does hurt and he's clearly spoiling for a fight.

Helena's nowhere to be found.

That's probably better for Helena than it is for them at this point. Felicity's not exactly what you might call the violent type. Usually. But for Helena she'd be sorely tempted to make an exception right now. Still… not all vengence requires violence. Give her fifteen minutes and a computer system with wave capabilities and Helena's reputation will never recover.

For the first time since they walked back into their cave by the lake, watchful eyes are not on them. Felicity's more than happy to take advantage of the opportunity at hand.

A plan starts to form in her mind, it's gutsy and dangerous and she hopes it doesn't make her a liar when she told Oliver they'd be okay. But he _needs_ medical attention. Now. He's surely not going to get it from Bertinelli's men and she has no idea who is attacking, if anyone's attacking at all, even. Terraforming isn't an easy business. Accidents happen. All of this could turn out to be a fortuitously-timed production problem. Right now, she doesn't care _what_ caused it. She only cares that it did. And that there's a person-sized hole in the wall leading outside.

She got turned around a bit when they entered the building, but she's fairly sure she can find the shuttle that brought them here. Does it have medical supplies on board? Is it guarded? Does it have fuel? God, none of that is something she can answer, but it's the only option she sees. Get him to the shuttle, lock it down, patch him up and _go_. At least it's portable shelter. They've done more with less before.

"Can you stand?" she asks him, boiling this whole plan down to step one.

He opens his mouth like he's going to say something but closes it quickly as his skin tinges with green.

"This is our chance and before you even _think_ it, I'm not leaving you," she tells him firmly, pressing her palms to his clammy cheeks. "When I say so, you need to stand. I'll bear your weight, but I can't pick you up. We're going to go out that brand new door someone kindly made for us, get to the shuttle and get out of here."

"Won't work," he manages. "You go. Please, Felicity."

Oh god there's so much blood. His leg's a mess and his voice is weaker than she can remember hearing and it terrifies her so much that she couldn't put it to words if she tried. Oliver's larger than life to her. He was well before she ever fell in love with him. She can't imagine the 'verse without him in it. Except… except right now she sort of can. And maybe that's the most terrifying thing of all.

"We already covered this," she bites out, trying not to cry and mostly managing it. "I'm not leaving you behind. Not now. Not ever, okay? All you have to do is _stand up_."

He looks her in the eye, seeing her clearly through the haze of pain for the first time since the impact on the knife tore through him so much worse than Helena had. She has no doubt at all what he finds there because she feels nothing but determination and love and loyalty. There is no chance that she will ever save herself at his expense.

"Okay," he says after a moment. "I'll try. But if this goes worse, if I can't move or they chase us and you have a chance to save yourself, I need to know you'll take it."

She won't lie to him. She can't.

"I will fight for the life I want with every last breath in my body," she vows. "But that life includes you in it. I will never give up trying to save us. _Both_ of us."

Gratefulness and sorrow both shade his pained features. She gets it. She feels that, too. But she's also nowhere near ready to give up.

"I'm going to get up first," she tells him with great resolve. "I'll give you a hand up. Don't put any weight on that leg, just lean on me."

"Okay," he agrees. "What about Salvati?"

Salvati is, in fact, the only person serving as an obstacle at the moment. Everyone else is gone, dead or rapidly dying. The bulky goon is coughing and shaking his head like he's trying to get his wits about him and that absolutely makes Felicity want to move faster.

"We're gonna hope he's a little more focused on the immediate danger to himself," Felicity says with more confidence than she feels.

Nothing she's seen of Salvati indicates he has any kind of sense that would lead him to do something intelligent… like _run_. But, she can hope, right?

She kisses Oliver fierce and fast, filled with desperation and every ounce of longing she has for a shared future between them. When she pulls back, he seems reluctant to let her go, chasing her lips with his, but they have more pressing matters at the moment and she can't let herself get lost in her want for him. Not when he needs her so very badly.

As quickly as she can, she brushes crumbled bits of concrete off of her and stands up, turning immediately toward Oliver.

"Up and at 'em," she orders, extending her hand to him.

He grasps it and she uses every ounce of strength she has to help pull him up. There's no doubt that he's substantially larger than her and even with the wiry muscle she's put on thanks to their impromptu wilderness survival excursion, the weight of him is taxing when he relies on her steady shoulder to stay standing.

"You!" Salvati shouts, draining any hope Felicity had for the man having any kind of _sense_. "I don't know how, but this was _you_."

He's zeroing in on them, lumbering along like a predator set loose on helpless prey. Actually, that analogy might be a little too close to comfort when she thinks about it.

"You bitch," he snarls.

That's when Felicity realizes it's not Oliver his ire is focused on. Probably that's when Oliver realizes it, too.

Several things happen in quick succession after that. Salvati grabs her arm, tosses her across the room as if she's weightless. Her shoulder collides with the wall and she lets out an instinctive cry of pain. Whether it's seeing her flying helplessly through the air or her pained cry that prompts Oliver to action, she doesn't know. But something does.

He can't walk. He can barely _stand_. Definitely he can't really fight. But he's got chains around his arms and Salvati is barely a foot away.

Oliver's always been good at using the resources at hand.

Probably Oliver looks bad enough that Salvati doesn't expect him to do a damned thing. That only proves how little he really knows Oliver, though, because no one is going to hurt Felicity without answering to Oliver. She knew that to be true even before they admitted their feelings for each other. But now…

Balanced precariously on one foot and barely conscious, Oliver is clearly powered by fury alone. He swings his arms for all his might, diminished as that is at the moment, and sends the chains attached to him flying to wrap around Salvati's neck.

The look in the Italian mobster's eyes is total surprise as the metal links encircle his throat and pull tight. She's pretty sure Oliver is half using the tension in the chain to stay standing, but he manages somehow, yanking tightly as the goon grapples at his neck.

"Oliver!" she shouts as he starts to look a little dizzy.

He glances at her briefly, a question hovering in his eyes. Another explosion goes off somewhere nearby and it makes the ground quake with its force.

"Kill him faster!" she exclaims urgently, gesturing in a choking motion with her hands.

And wow… this is her life. Okay then.

Salvati apparently recognizes the dire nature of his situation at her words though because he takes his weight and barrels into Oliver, sending them both sprawling across the floor and before Felicity knows it he's turned the tables, wrapping the chain around Oliver's neck.

There is absolutely no thought in her mind other than " _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver"_ as she dives for DiStefano's unmoving body and grabs his gun. She acts on pure instinct and relies on the training from Oliver as she turns, levels the firearm at Salvati and lets off three shots in very quick succession.

Possibly by sheer force of will alone, she doesn't miss.

Salvati goes down with lifeless eyes and a hole in his skull that she put there and she's not even a little bit sorry.

"Oliver!" she exclaims, scrambling towards him.

"I'm okay," he assures her, even though his leg says otherwise.

His impact with Salvati clearly didn't do him any favors. He's clutching at his thigh, eyes pinched shut as he curls in on himself and _god_ that sight alone just about kills her.

"Come on," she orders, crossing over to him and gripping him by his shoulder and tugging. "I know it hurts but you've gotta get up, Oliver. I am going to spend the rest of my life loving you whether you're there or not and I have to say it sounds a whole lot better if you're around for most if not all of that time, okay? Don't make me do this alone."

His laugh is choked off and he's so pale, his gaze hazy. It shouldn't surprise her when his eyes roll up into the back of his head and he passes out. It still does, though. He's Oliver. He's her superhero. He's invincible.

"OLIVER!" She cries in a desperate sob.

It's all on her then, she realizes when he doesn't respond. She has to save them both. Somehow. It takes every ounce of strength she has in her newly gained muscles to pull him up to standing and position him so that his weight is mostly resting across her back. He's heavy. He's lost weight through this trial. They both have, but he's still all muscle and she has nothing other than willpower to carry him with. But at least she has that in spades.

They move painfully slowly. There's debris everywhere that she keeps nearly tripping over and the weight of him is so heavy it's a near miracle she doesn't collapse under it. But they do _move_.

Just crossing the room takes nearly ten minutes and she'd be sorely tempted to stop and take a breath if she thought she could. But she knows better. There's no time for that. So she pushes her exhaustion back and soldiers on with exactly one thought in her mind, one dedicated purpose. Saving them both.

When they get to the opening in the wall, she takes the opportunity to use standing structural metal support beam to bear some of Oliver's weight while she peeks outside. Snow is driving down in force, a furious deluge of flakes that whip around in the wind and leave near zero visibility. She can't see the shuttle. She can't see _anything_. Is the shuttle even still there? Did it get damaged in the explosion? Did someone run off with it? Newfound fears worm their way into her mind as she realizes exactly what a long shot her plan really is.

"Think I'm gonna toss another grenade an' hope it starts a fire just so I ain't freezin' my bits off."

Never in her entire life did Felicity expect to be _this_ excited to hear Jayne's distinctive voice. But _oh wow_ is she. Excitement and relief sweep through her and she cries out his name as loud as she can, hoping against hope that their crew is the only one to hear her voice.

"Felicity?"

It's Digg's voice and finally she thinks she can see her friend's familiar frame through the driving snow. Hot tears well up in her eyes and she doesn't even try to hold them back this time.

"Digg, we need help," she sobs out.

Oliver's heavy. He's _so_ heavy. She can feel her knees starting to buckle under his weight even with the help of the pillar. A wave of nausea and dizziness hits her out of nowhere. Her head swims, the world spins and her grip on Oliver slackens and she slips.

" _Felicity_."

It's Digg's voice. She has no idea how he moves so quickly through the snow, but before she falls entirely his huge, comforting arms are wrapped around her and Oliver both, supporting the pair of them.

"They're hurt," Digg shouts as Mal and Jayne both close in on them, moving just a bit slower than Digg had.

She wants to protest that she's fine. That's it's Oliver who's injured, but Digg is looking at her side with an intensely grave look and when she follows his gaze down she finds that… _oh_ , oh she _is_ hurt too.

There's some twisted bit of metal sticking out of her flank, turning Roy's red jacket an entirely different shade of red. She hadn't seen it. She hadn't even _felt_ it.

"That's… not good," she says as she watches the red stain bloom across the fabric.

"I got you," Digg promises as Mal and Jayne take up positions on either side of Oliver and bear his weight.

"Digg?" she asks, feeling hazy.

"You're gonna be okay, Felicity," he promises her. "I got you. It's okay now. Put your arms around my neck, all right?"

She does and he hoists her up into his arms as gently as he can. And… _oh_ there's the pain. She whimpers as he jostles her. It hurts. It hurts _a lot_ , but even through the pain she's trying to keep an eye on Oliver.

"Oliver?" she asks, looking toward Mal and Jayne.

"Breathing but bleeding," Mal tells her. "Don't you worry about him. Doc'll fix him right up."

She's not sure if she believes him. Mal seems the type who might lie in a crisis just to keep his people calm. She looks to Digg with the same question on her face.

"He got any wounds other than that knife in his leg?" Digg asks.

"No," she replies. "But it's been bad since we crashed. Helena stabbed him where he was already hurt. It was bad before, too."

Digg's face tightens at that but he says nothing.

"And you?" he asks after a few seconds.

"Tired. Cold. Hungry. Apparently I have a piece of a building in me too," she replies. "Everybody okay? Is the ship okay?"

"Ship's hurt way worse than the crew," Digg replies. "It took us a week and a half just to patch up to the point where we were space-worthy again. Zoe broke her arm, but other than that it was all just bumps and bruises."

"Who attacked?" Felicity asks.

"Can't say as we're one-hundred percent sure, but smart money's on Bertinelli, I'd say," Mal chimes in.

"No," Felicity counters. "It wasn't."

"You sure on that?" Digg asks, eyeing her closely.

"Yeah," Felicity bites out as Digg sidesteps a rock and moves her the wrong way.

"Sorry," he tells her. "We're almost there. We'll get you patched up and warm and fed and you can rest, okay?"

"I'm not leaving him," she says automatically.

"Let's see what the doc says," Digg hedges.

It doesn't matter what Simon says. She will stand firm on this. Or, well, probably _lie_ firm on it actually. She's not exactly in standing-shape at the moment. But there is nothing in the entire 'verse that will be able to keep her from Oliver's side.

"Hey now. A welcoming committee. Ain't that thoughtful," Mal says as they round a corner and she finally, _finally_ sees Verdant's familiar shape through the snow, but also sees that it's not just Verdant there.

A handful of Bertinelli's men are firing on the ship as Roy and Sara fire back. Digg's hands are full, but Mal and Jayne each have one free and they raise their guns firing on the men even as they keep walking toward the ship.

"Come on!" Sara shouts waving them in as she takes out one of the attackers and two more fall thanks to Mal and Jayne. "There's more coming!"

She makes the mistake of looking over Digg's shoulder and… yeah, there are more coming. A lot more.

"Faster, John," she urges.

"Trying not to jostle you too much, Felicity," he tells her.

"Jostle away," she replies with growing urgency. "Trust me on this one."

A bullet whizzes right past Digg's shoulder, narrowly missing them both. That's apparently all it takes to make Digg really haul ass. He runs for the ship as fast as he can as Felicity tries not to cry out in pain from his arms. Sara and Roy provide cover and they manage to get aboard without being hit, Mal, Jayne and still-unconscious Oliver just behind them.

Mal hits the button to close the loading bay door while Sara and Roy continue to fire through the shrinking opening.

"They on board? It's bad out there. When are we going, guys?" Wash's voice rings out over the comm system.

"No time like the present," Mal shouts into the comm. "All accounted for. So, now, now'd be a good time to kuài qù hen yuan de dì fāng."

The ship jolts as it starts to lift off the ground and Digg has to brace his upper arm against the wall to keep them standing. Mal and Jayne have an easier time with Oliver, probably since they each have a free hand now that they aren't having to return fire.

"Where's Simon?" Felicity asks, her hands shaking from blood loss and pain or possibly from panic as she takes in the trail of blood Oliver is leaving behind him.

"Ollie!"

It's Thea rounding the corner who cries out her brother's name, Simon hot on her heels. He's all business from the get-go, a stark contrast to Thea's incredibly emotional presence.

"We need to get them both to the medical bay immediately," Simon says, pressing two fingers to Oliver's neck and staring at his wrist watch as Thea hovers. "How long's he been out?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes?" Felicity answers, whimpering a little and cringing as pain shoots through her side.

"Any injuries other than the leg?" Simon asks, looking at her sharply. "And your side?"

"We got knocked around a bit. Some falling debris," Felicity admits as they start moving swiftly towards the medical bay. "And that leg was hurt to start with. It has been since we crashed and it was infected."

"Describe the infection," Simon commands. "And Sara, go find some bolt-cutters. We need to get these cuffs off of him."

Sara nods and hurries off while Felicity takes a deep breath and recalls the history of Oliver's injury. In great detail. All of the worry and terror of those days echoes in her voice and Digg holds her a little closer and presses a kiss to the top of her very messy hair in comfort.

"It's over now," he reminds her in a low murmur meant only for her ears.

"Not quite," she counters, eyes drifting back down to Oliver's mangled leg.

"Get her on the second bed," Simon orders as they enter the medical bay and Sara cuts through Oliver's cuffs before Mal and Jayne place him on one of the beds with more care than Felicity might have thought possible of those two. "Don't move, Felicity. I'll get to you in a moment."

"I'm fine," she says. "I mean… fine-ish. Just take care of him. Please."

She aches to touch him, to feel his skin and remind herself that he's still _there_ , even if it's just something as simple as his hand. There's no way she can reach him from where she is, though. All she can do is watch his strangely still form.

"His pressure's dropping. He needs blood," Simon says from Oliver's far side as he ties a tourniquet around Oliver's upper thigh.

"He's got some of his own stocked up," Digg says, moving toward their medical storage.

"Grab saline, too," Simon states in crisp reply.

"Oh god," Thea says, covering her mouth from the doorway.

"You shouldn't be here," Simon tells her without even looking up as he cuts through Oliver's very destroyed pants.

"I'm not going anywhere," Thea returns. "That's my _brother_."

"Exactly," Simon tells her.

"He has to be okay," Felicity murmurs. "Please tell me he's going to be okay."

"If we can get his bleeding under control he should be fine, but I still need to get the knife out and there's no small amount of risk in that. Even best case scenario, he's got a lot of recovery time ahead of him," Simon tells her. "Weeks. Maybe months. It's not going to be easy."

"That's the understatement of the century," Digg shakes his head as he hooks up the saline and blood bags to the IV stand.

Oh, Oliver will be a pain in the ass as he recovers. _Months_ of rehab? He'll be grumpy and irritable and right now she doesn't even care because she just wants to know he's going to be okay. Eventually. She's welcome his grouchy face at the moment.

"Digg can you… can you scoot my bed closer to him, please?" Felicity asks.

She can feel the eyes of everyone other than Simon turn to her. He, at least, remains focused on Oliver.

"I just… I need to hold his hand. I can't reach it from here and I have to… I just have to hold his hand, is all," she sniffles, blinking back tears.

"If it's all right with the doc…" Digg ventures.

"Should be okay," Simon replies. "His injury is on the other side. But if things go south I'm pushing your bed out of the way."

"Good," Felicity agrees as Digg wheels her closer to Oliver.

She immediately grabs his hand and pulls it to her lips, kissing his fingers while she strokes his palm. It steadies her some. His hand is warm and she can feel his pulse beneath her thumb and she'd _needed_ that. Desperately.

"You're… um… you're wearing the ring," Thea observes curiously from the doorway.

"Yeah," Felicity mutters into his fingers.

"I'm glad," she offers up after a second.

"Me too," Felicity smiles back at Oliver's sister.

She can't watch while Simon pulls the knife from Oliver's leg. Thea can't either, it seems, because she crosses to sit at Felicity's other side and holds her free hand. Felicity's not sure if she's trying to lend her strength or cultivate her own. Maybe both. She hopes both. She hopes it goes both ways.

It's a blur for a bit as Simon works. It paradoxically takes forever and goes by in the blink of an eye. Talk of irrigation and stitches and pulse rate and oxygen cloud her ears but mostly what she hears is her own heartbeat ringing in her ears and sniffles from Thea.

"He's lucky," Simon says after what feels like an eternity. "An inch over and we would be having a very different conversation."

"He's going to be okay?" Thea asks on the edge of her seat as Felicity sobs in relief and pain shoots through her mid-section at the motion.

"He should be," Simon replies. "I'll have to monitor him closely and the danger of infection is very real. But he's stable for now and I'd say his odds are good."

"He's gonna be okay," Thea repeats, squeezing Felicity's hand tightly and leaning her head against the blonde's shoulder. "You're both okay."

It's only when she turns to press her forehead against Thea's hair that she realizes Roy is standing behind the girl with a hand resting on her back supportively.

"You had us worried, blondie," he says as a belated greeting.

"We had us worried too," she agrees. "I never want to eat fish ever again."

"You're malnourished, I'm sure," Simon tells her, rounding the bed and forcing Thea and Roy to step back. "Digg can finish stitching Oliver up. I want to get a look at your side, now that Oliver's out of the woods, okay?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "I don't even know how it happened. Maybe it was when Salvati tossed me into the wall after the first explosion?"

"Remind me I need to kill a mafia scumbag," Digg mutters under his breath as Simon cuts away the shirt and jacket from her side.

"Oh I took care of that," Felicity replies, much to Digg's surprise. "He had a chain around Oliver's neck so I shot him."

"You _shot_ him?" Digg asks.

"You _hit_ him?" Roy asks.

"Two weeks in the wilderness does wonders for your aim and your willingness to kill for survival," Felicity advises them.

"This looks worse than it is," Simon tells her, examining the wound. "Jayne, how about you go let Kaylee know they're both stable before she abandons the engine room to storm in here. Sara, would you mind fixing Felicity up a plate of food? Something light and well balanced. It's going to take a bit of time for her to adjust to eating normally again."

"Hate to barge in but we got us a small problem," Zoe says, appearing in the doorway.

"Wouldn't be us if we didn't," Mal sighs. "What kind of crisis we got us this time?"

"Mafia's givin' chase," she replies. "They ain't got a clean shot yet, but they'll be in range soon. No way we got the structural integrity to push faster than we're already goin'. Not without _real_ repairs. We gotta find us a safe haven."

Felicity sighs. She already knows the solution to this, even if she's isn't one hundred percent thrilled with it.

"Can we get to Solntsevskaya?" she asks. "That's close and there's no way Bertinelli's men will follow us there."

"Is she drugged yet doc? She's gotta be drugged. No way she suggested we run to the Bratva for protection," Mal blinks.

"No, she's right," Digg chimes in. "Anatoly will give us cover and we can probably drydock there for repairs. There's even a chance we might be able to get a core for your ship there. It's a good plan."

"Sorta jumpin' from the frying pan to fire though. Either way we're cooked," Mal points out. "I know you all said the captain's affiliated with Bratva but..."

"Oliver's a captain," Felicity replies, hissing through her teeth as Simon pours something over her wound that stings.

"Well, your boy's just full of surprises ain't he?" Mal blinks back.

"We ain't got a better option," Zoe points out. "I'll take the Bratva over the Bertinellis any day, seein' as I ain't pissed them off lately."

" _Lately_ ," Mal echoes with a far-off look.

"Do it," Digg orders.

Zoe nods sharply and hurries from the room, Mal going with her. The immediate crisis handled for the moment, Felicity goes back to actively trying to ignore Simon working on the puncture wound in her side. If she doesn't think about it, it won't be as painful, right? Right. Well… that's the theory anyhow.

"I need to numb this before I pull it out," Simon tells Felicity, scooting back to look her in the eye. "Any chance you're pregnant?"

Her head is such an utterly blank slate at that question that she's not actually sure the slate is even there. Because _what_?

"Uhhh…" she says, glancing around the room. "What?"

"Some of the drugs I would prefer to give you would be harmful if you were pregnant," Simon clarifies. "I can have the others leave if you're uncomfortable answering with them here. But I need to know if you're sexually active."

"There's… I…" she squeaks out. "I'm… not."

"You're sure?" Simon asks. "I could run a test if there's any risk."

"No, I… Roy's jacket was… well-stocked," she says incredibly awkwardly.

"Well stocked?" Simon asks while Roy turns about as red as his hoodie.

"Condoms?" Thea asks, smacking Roy's shoulder. "You had _condoms_ in your jacket?"

"Seventeen of them," Felicity notes.

"Oh my god, Roy!" Thea laughs at her boyfriend while Digg tries not to smile.

"I didn't know Sara was going to be there when I picked you up, okay?" Roy shrugs awkwardly. "So I just… grabbed some before I left. I didn't stop to count them."

"My brother might kill you," Thea notes with far too much humor in her voice.

"If he tries, remind him that it worked out in his favor," Felicity offers.

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to that conversation," Roy replies dryly.

"For what it's worth, it seems like you two sorted some things out," Digg observes. "I'm glad for that."

"We did," she agrees, looking toward Oliver's still-unconscious form. "And thanks, Digg. I am, too."

"So, no test then?" Simon asks, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

Well, as long as they're all bluntly talking about her sex life…

"Honestly, Simon, unless you have something that shows up within twelve hours of having sex, it's not going to show anything anyhow," she tells him unflinchingly.

The surprise on Simon's face would _probably_ make her laugh if she wasn't sure it would be incredibly painful to do so at the moment.

"Oh, god, you are going to be like… the best sister-in-law _ever_ ," Thea chuckles.

"We're not… married, Thea," Felicity tells her, turning a little pink.

"Hence the future tense," she challenges with a knowing look.

"No test," Felicity tells Simon. "Give me the drugs. Give me _all_ of the drugs."

"Why do I think you on pain meds is going to be wildly entertaining?" Thea muses.

Digg snorts from over at the sink where he's washing Oliver's blood off of his hands.

"You have no idea," he tells her as Simon sinks a needle into Felicity's skin.

It's all sort of a blur after that, but Thea grins and shakes her head at her for days afterwards every time she comes to visit them in the medical bay, so she presumes Digg wasn't entirely wrong.


	28. Chapter 28

Truth be told, Oliver hadn't expected to wake up. Not this time. He's had more than his fair share of close calls and he'd figured his nine lives were up this time. He just wished it hadn't been like _this_. With _her_ in danger, too.

The desperate sound of Felicity's voice had faded from his ears, sounding somehow both louder and further away all at once, the distance between them lengthening even as he tried so hard to hold onto her. He never did let go, not consciously, but she had slipped through his grasp anyhow.

He's only human and even his body has its limits.

But now, on the verge of wakefulness with overly bright lighting shining through his still-shut eyelids, none of the fear or terror of those last moments has abated from Oliver's consciousness. And he awakens much the same way he passed out - violently and with struggle.

"Ollie, _Ollie_."

His sister's words don't even register as he sucks in a wild breath and sits stock straight up, entirely on edge and completely defensive, ready to fight.

"Hold him down before he hurts himself!"

"That's a _terrible_ idea, doc, unless you want another patient. Oliver, man, stand down. You're safe. You're both okay."

Oliver's eyes are darting everywhere, but completely unseeing, uncomprehending. He can't absorb anything, can't make sense of it. All he hears is a distant din of voices and the rush of his own blood pounding in his head. He doesn't know where he is, but at the moment he also doesn't exactly care. That's not a concern that even registers. There are other things at the forefront of his mind.

"Felicity!"

"She's here. She's here, man. She's okay. You're both gonna be okay."

"...Digg?"

Slowly bits of reality start to soak in then, even if they don't quite make sense. Is he dead? He can't be. He's not sure he believes in any kind of an afterlife. But if there is one, he's not naive enough to believe himself worthy of anything close to heaven. Not after everything he's done. And if he and Felicity are here and okay… that's the closest he's been to bliss in quite a while.

"She's…" he starts, blinking at the familiar face of his friend and his sister as they shift into focus.

"She's right next to you Ollie, but try to keep it down. She finally fell asleep," Thea replies.

"Yeah, shhhhh… we have to be quiet."

It's Felicity, though she sounds a little off, and his shoulders unbunch with relief at the familiar tenor of her voice. His eyes focus enough then that he can see her, sprawled lazily on a cot pulled close to his.

"You're okay," he breathes out, something unfurling inside him at the sight of her.

"Shhhh… _quiet_ ," she reminds him, a finger pressed to her lips.

He looks around the room in confusion. It's just the five of them. Him, her, Digg, Thea and Simon.

"Why are we being quiet?" he asks after a moment.

"Because I'm _sleeping_ ," she says with a laugh.

Digg just shakes his head while Thea looks toward the ceiling.

"How many drugs are you on?" Oliver asks her with amusement.

"All of them," she grins dopily.

"I can tell," he replies, unable to keep a grin from overtaking his face.

"I _saved_ us, Oliver. I'm a superhero. I'm _your_ superhero," she grins dreamily with glazed over eyes and rosy cheeks. "I should have a mask. Or a code name. _Oh_ , or a cape. I'd look good in a cape, I think."

"You would," he confirms through a laugh, because there's literally no other way to answer that. "And you were already my hero, Felicity."

" _Super_ hero," she corrects, pointing her finger at him which waves about unintentionally. "I carried you and everything."

"You're amazing," he tells her, taking her hand and smoothing his fingers over her knuckles before he looks back up at Digg and Thea who wear their amusement openly. "How badly is she hurt?"

"Oh you did remember we were here, huh?" Digg asks, crossing his arms.

"Digg…" Oliver says, his tone betraying his lack of patience.

"She's nowhere near as bad as you, big brother," Thea tells him. "She had a piece of metal in her side thanks to the explosion. Simon got it out, stitched her up. But it wasn't very deep. She'll just need a week or two to heal. You, on the other hand…"

"Him on the other _leg_ ," Felicity says with a laugh that wouldn't be there if she weren't drugged.

He looks down at his gauze covered thigh. He can't feel it at all. There's probably some numbing agent at work, but he remembers with vivid clarity precisely how bad it had looked before he'd passed out. He's had enough injuries to have an idea of what kind of recovery time the doctor is going to project for him.

"How bad?" he asks.

"Bad," Simon replies, walking over. "We'll get to that, but first is there any pain? How are you feeling?"

"Alive. Which is a lot better than I'd expected," Oliver tells him. "I assume you numbed my leg?"

"Yes," Simon confirms. "I'm going to need to closely monitor you as you heal. You have a long road ahead of you for recovery."

"How bad?" Oliver asks again, bracing himself for the answer.

"You should keep it immobilized for a month," Simon starts off. "Then gentle exercises and rehab for a couple of weeks followed by strengthening exercises that will probably take months more. But your leg will never be quite like it was, Captain. You had a very serious injury. You're lucky we got to you when we did."

That doesn't sound right to his ears. It _can't_ be right. Sure, it was a terrible injury. Life-threatening, even. But that's nothing new for him and he's always rebounded quickly. A shot of lidocaine and he's on his feet again, right? Jumping off of buildings and scaling scaffolding with speed and precision borne from years of carefully honed skills and plenty of other near misses.

"It'll be okay," Felicity tells him, holding his hand a little tighter and sounding more sober than she has since he woke up. "We're a team, Oliver. Team Arrow to the rescue. We got this. And you'll get better. We both will. It's just gonna take some time."

"She's right, Oliver," Digg tells him. "You two have been through a hell of a lot these past two weeks."

"Can't have been a walk in the park for you guys either," Oliver counters.

"Damn straight it wasn't. We were worried as hell about you two," Digg confirms. "It was more than a week before we could even get the ship to the point where we could fly her without coming apart at the seams and by the time we got to that moon the homing beacon from the escape pod had died. It's a damned good thing that Felicity thought to manipulate the mafia into calling Mal or you two would probably be dead right now and we'd be hundreds of miles away still looking for wreckage."

"I'm a superhero and my superpower is my brain," Felicity sighs with a far-off voice.

"Remind me not to have River come visit you while you're medicated," Simon shakes his head.

"Other than the two of you, the only injury on this ship right now is Zoe's broken arm," Digg continues. "You've got two crews full of people who want to see this thing through and figure out who is trying to release the alpha-omega. You aren't the only one who can use a weapon, man. And you're gonna have to lead the team from your hospital bed this time, because anything else is a liability. And you know it."

Oliver grimaces at that, clearly disliking the answer but having absolutely no way to counter Digg's words.

"Do we know who shot us down?" Oliver asks.

"Afraid not," Digg tells him. "But thanks to Lyla, we do know that ARGUS intercepted a huge cache of alpha-omega on a very similar ship that was headed out toward the rim."

"Do we think that's all of it? Did they destroy it?" Oliver asks, sitting up a little straighter.

"If it wasn't all of it, it was most of it. But no such luck on ARGUS destroying it," Digg says shaking his head. "Waller's not gonna let power like that go."

"Waller's increasingly a problem," Oliver growls.

"Not disagreeing, but at least on the upside we can be pretty sure that ARGUS has bought us some time," Digg points out. "Whoever stole it from them before will undoubtedly go after it again. And given their track record, I'd say they're likely to get it. But at least we've probably got some down time until that happens."

"We need it," Thea chimes in. "We all need it, Ollie. The ship needs repairs and your crew needs to take a _breath_."

"Where are we headed?" Oliver asks.

"Anatoly," Felicity says, her voice unnaturally chipper. "Bertinelli's people were chasing us so I figured _hey_ enemy of my enemy is _totally_ my friend. Especially when they're your friend. Does that make him _our_ friend? I'm not sure Anatoly would count me a friend. Maybe more like ...that girl he met that one time. That's different. But still… Solntsevskaya or bust for us."

"The _Bratva_?" Oliver asks, automatically moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed until Simon steps in the way with an extremely concerned look on his face. "Sorry. I just… if you're taking us to the Bratva, I need to send a wave to Anatoly. _Now_."

"Don't worry about it," Thea advises, waving his concern off like it's nothing. "Inara knows him, apparently. She already got in contact."

Oliver blinks rapidly at that a few times, trying to wrap his brain around _that_ notion.

"I… probably shouldn't be surprised by that," he says finally.

"And yet…" Thea notes, her voice trailing off.

"And yet… somehow I manage to forget she was never just Tommy's girl," Oliver admits.

"I'd say that means she's pretty damned good at her job then," Thea points out.

She's not wrong, exactly, but she's also not entirely right. At the time, she was probably too young to really pick up on all the undertones between Inara and Tommy. But Oliver had seen it clear as day. He knew better. He still knows better. It was never about business with the two of them. At least, not entirely.

The heaviness that always comes with thinking about Tommy these days weighs down on him, makes his shoulders sag and his brow furrow with lines of regret. It always washes over him like this, the horrible sorrow that comes with losing someone who was once so central to his life. Once, he'd thought he might drown in it. He'd run out past the edge of the rim again, set down on the familiar soil of Lian Yu. There, at least, the struggles were predictable, the daily pull of life and death.

But something had pulled him back, dragged him to the surface and forced breath back into him. Or, rather, _someone_ had. And, unsurprisingly, right now she does it again with a well-timed snore that cuts through his maudlin thoughts.

He lets out a little laugh and smiles thinly at Felicity's suddenly slumbering form curled up on the cot next to his. That she can make him _laugh_ in the middle of thinking about Tommy - that she can make him smile at all after everything he's been through - it never fails to amaze him. _She_ never fails to amaze him.

"She's _good_ for you, Ollie," Thea says, drawing his attention towards his sister who is looking on with knowing approval. "I'm glad you got over your stupid hangups. It's about time you admitted you were crazy about her."

"It was never about admitting I was in love with her. I've known that for years," he confesses.

"Well… whatever it was about, I'm glad you stopped being a bullheaded idiot about it," Thea replies. "You deserve to be happy, Oliver. And it's pretty obvious she makes you happy."

He looks back at Felicity, blonde hair tangled around her face and a little trickle of drool on her cheek. She's still beautiful to him. Even now after weeks in the wilderness fighting for survival without even the most basic of necessities on hand. He looks at her and all he feels is love and hope. She makes his heart light.

"We've gotta be getting close to Bratva space. I'm gonna go check in with Wash, see where we're at," Digg announces, squeezing Oliver's shoulder tightly. "Get some rest, man. It's good to have you home."

Oliver grips his first mate's forearm in solidarity. For the hundredth time, it strikes him how amazingly lucky he is to have found this crew, _these_ people. Digg who always has his back and Felicity who has always had his heart. For all the miserable luck he's had in the last decade, this, at least, could not have been better.

"Thanks, Digg. It's good to _be_ back. Believe me," he smiles in return at his best friend before the other man squeezes his shoulder again and turns to leave.

With Digg out of the room, Oliver's gaze shifts back to Felicity again. In sleep, she wrinkles her nose at something and makes a little huffing sound and he can't help the smile at tugs at his lips.

"You are so gone on her, big brother," Thea says with delight.

"I'm gonna marry her," Oliver says, the words feeling strange on his lips but no less true for their foreign taste. "Someday. If she'll have me."

If Thea's surprised by that, she doesn't give any indication. In fact, she stays completely silent and it's unexpected enough that it pulls Oliver's gaze up to his sister. Her smile is soft and wide as she moves to sit next to him on the cot, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Good," she says simply after a moment.

"Yeah?" Oliver asks, watching her closely for a response.

"I've spent the last two weeks thinking I'd lost my brother, Oliver," she tells him. " _Again_. Looks like I'm going to gain a sister instead, so… yeah. _Good_. I like Felicity and I like the way you smile when you're around her. It's like… it's like she brings out the person inside you that you were always meant to be, the brother I remember from _before_. At least with me. So, yeah. I'm pretty happy to have that guy back. Not that your broody face wasn't endearing, too, of course."

"Of course," he echoes, looking at his sister fondly.

"Plus you two will make really pretty babies," Thea notes.

Oliver's laugh in response sounds more like a moose being strangled than anything else.

"I'm not wrong," Thea tells him mischievously.

She's not. And he'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind before. From the second he'd seen her smiling adoringly at newborn baby Sara, the image had been seared in his back of mind.

Felicity holding a baby.

Felicity holding _their_ baby.

The very idea is enough to jar something loose deep in his bones that he hadn't even known was there. There's a primal kind of longing that's overwhelming in its intensity at that notion. He's never had that before, never thought that was him. Sure, there'd been the vague notion of _someday_ having a family of his own when he was younger, but it was always this far-off nebulous idea set in some foggy, distant future. There had never been anything real about it, nothing solid. But now…

Now he sees it.

He sees rubbing her back to ease the burden of her fast-swelling belly and charting the ship on a new course because she just _has_ to have more mint chocolate chip. He sees two a.m. feedings and impossibly little fingers gripping his thumb. He sees his whole 'verse curled up together in their bed, cuddling exhaustedly while soft little puffs of baby breath whisper across the curve of Felicity's neck.

He _sees_ it. But more than that, he _wants_ it, too.

Someday.

"We've been together for two weeks, Thea," he says, fully aware of how hoarse his voice has turned. "Let's give it a bit before you start buying booties, okay?"

"Oh brother of mine… what makes you think I haven't _already_ started?" Thea asks, batting her eyelashes with faux-innocence as Oliver jerks to look back at her.

"You haven't," he insists.

"Ollie, the writing on that wall has been plain as day for _years_ and there's a wait list for Gucci infant wear," she replies.

He literally can't breathe for a moment while he tries to determine whether or not she's kidding. Eventually, he decides he's not sure he really wants to know.

"You should get some rest," Simon says, reminding him of the other man's presence and saving him from thinking about his sister's apparent clothing purchases.

"Not yet," Oliver counters, earning himself disbelieving looks from both Thea and Simon. "I need to talk to Anatoly first."

"Inara has it covered," Thea assures him.

"If she were in a shuttle by herself, sure," Oliver allows. "That wouldn't be a problem. But with a ship full of people?"

"You think Anatoly won't let us in on her say-so?" Thea prods. "Why? She's a companion, Ollie, and one he knows."

"Right," Oliver agrees slowly. "And if he were on a central planet or it were just her in a shuttle that'd be one thing, but it's a whole ship smack in the middle of Bratva territory, Thea. That's a different story."

"Why?" Thea asks.

"Because she's not Bratva," he tells her. "And because Anatoly is rightfully suspicious of anyone he doesn't know setting down on one of his planets. I presume we're headed for the main compound?"

"That was my understanding," Simon agrees. "One of the Bratva captains is a longstanding client of Inara's, which is how Anatoly knows her. She's been at some… Bratva functions."

Oliver blinks at that, trying to envision exactly what sort of Bratva events _Inara_ might have been at. He finds he doesn't like the idea much. Maybe she was never really Tommy's girl, but he still knows that Tommy wanted better for her than the Russian mob. Some of that spills over to him. He's always felt an obligation to fulfill the wishes of the people he's lost.

"There is… a hierarchy in the Bratva," Oliver tells them. "Inara might get past the outer defenses on her own merit, but she's not getting a ship like this parked at the main compound."

Anatoly's trust doesn't extend that far. Oliver knows this. Thoroughly. His time spent here, on this planet, working at Anatoly's side made that perfectly clear.

"Thea, trust me, I need to talk to Anatoly," Oliver insists.

"Alright," Thea says tossing up her hands. "Give me a moment and I'll patch you on over a wave. Okay?"

"Thank you," Oliver sighs, leaning back for a moment while his sister drifts off to set up the communication.

He doesn't have long to relax, though, as it only takes Thea a moment to drag over a monitor and punch in the appropriate commands to open a line between himself and the familiar face of his Pakhan.

"Oliver! This is a surprise. Как дела?" Anatoly greets.

"Нормально," Oliver responds. "Mostly, anyhow."

"Are you near?" Anatoly asks, cutting through pretenses. "You should stop in for a drink, my friend. It has been too many nights since we have shared a toast."

"I am, in fact," Oliver tells him. "Someone from my ship already contacted you. Inara?"

"Inara?" Anatoly asks, blinking at him in surprise. "She is on _your_ ship?"

"Yes," Oliver confirms.

"Oliver… I do not like my captains vying for a woman's attention, even that of a companion. It leads to messy business," Anatoly tells him heavily.

"That's not an issue," Oliver assures him readily. "Inara's an old friend, nothing more. I've never been her client and I don't intend to be. I'm just giving her a lift."

"Oliver Queen _not_ pursuing a beautiful woman? Well this is something I simply must see to believe," Anatoly laughs.

"Listen… Anatoly… between you and me, there's a reason Inara was the one to call you," Oliver says with hesitance.

The Russian grunts in acknowledgement, surveys what he can see of Oliver over the wave.

"How bad is it?" he asks after a moment.

"Bad," Oliver confirms. "Bertinelli's crew did a number on my leg, took a knife to it and then it got slammed to the side. Doc says it's going to be a month before I'm back on my feet, longer before I'm in fighting form."

Anatoly hisses between his teeth at that and winces.

"An injury like that, Oliver, I would think it was an ex-lover's doing, no?" Anatoly asks.

"Actually…" Oliver acknowledges, voice fading off at the end.

"Oliver… this is you, yes?" Anatoly asks with a full-bodied, good-natured laugh. "Of course it is ex-lover. You have many ardent admirers, but a wandering eye, my friend. It was bound to catch up to you sometime. You are a lover of many women, but a partner to none. You make broken hearts wherever you go and you know what they say of scorned women, yes?"

"Not anymore," Oliver counters. "That's not… I'm not that person anymore."

"No?" Anatoly asks, surprise and delight both dancing in his beady eyes. "Is there someone who has actually _held_ your attention, верный друг? How surprising!"

"She's here," Oliver confesses. "As is my sister. You'll make it known they're under my protection?"

"Of course, of course," Anatoly confirms, waving off any concerns. "Верный друг лучше сотни слуг, Oliver, and you know well you are welcome in my home as long as you need. As is your family and your woman."

Oliver breathes out a sigh of relief at this, but a moment later he'll wonder if possibly that wasn't a bit premature.

"It is good that you and your crew are here, Oliver," Anatoly tells him, looking to the side as if he's trying to ensure that he's alone. "There is… a matter I might need some small assistance with in a week or two. As the saying goes, you get to really know your friends when trouble comes, yes? There is little more valuable than a proven ally."

"Anatoly… you know I would do anything for you, but I can't even stand at the moment," Oliver reminds him.

"Of course, of course," Anatoly laughs. "It is a small thing, Oliver. Nothing to worry about at this time. But perhaps… in some time, I might call on your crew for a very small favor."

Oliver feels his jaw pop with tension at this, but he's not exactly in the position to tell Anatoly no.

"My crew reports to me and I am loyal to you, of course," Oliver replies. "If you need something of us, we will be happy to see what we can do to help."

"Excellent!" Anatoly says, clapping his hands once in delight. "But this is not a matter for now, yes? It is time for safe landings and warm homes. This is not to worry on, Oliver."

"Я благодарен Вам за помощь," Oliver tells him.

"Always, Oliver," Anatoly assures him. "My doors are open to you. You know this."

"Bertinelli's men might not be happy about that," Oliver notes.

Anatoly's nose twitches at that and he spits to the side before responding.

"Bertinelli and his men can Иди на хуй," Anatoly sneers. "I tire of their two-faced meddling. Allow me to deal with Bertinelli, yes? It is the least I can do."

"I appreciate that," Oliver tells him sincerely. "We've had a rough time of it these last few weeks, mostly thanks to them."

"We can discuss more in the morning, Oliver. You must rest. Sleep, my friend. Recover. До завтра," Anatoly tells him.

"Tomorrow," Oliver agrees.

With that, the wave ends, leaving Oliver staring at a blank screen contemplating the conversation that just happened.

"So we're good?" Thea asks, interrupting his thoughts.

"Not even close," Oliver counters grimly.

"But Ollie, he said-"

"When we land, stay on the ship until I say otherwise, Thea," Oliver orders.

"Ollie!" Thea protests with a groan.

"I mean it," Oliver says, his voice firm and stern. "There's something going on that I'm not seeing yet and I don't want you involved in it."

"I can take care of myself," Thea protests, crossing her arms.

"Not here," Oliver tells her, hard eyes that make him feel like he's slipping into his Bratva captain persona more by the second. "Not with these men, Thea. You will stay _here_ until I tell you it's okay to disembark, is that understood?"

" _Sheesh_ , yes," Thea responds, rolling her eyes.

"You have no idea, Thea, _no_ idea what these men are capable of," Oliver tells her, his gaze piercing and unwavering with the full intensity of a Bratva captain.

"They're the _mob_ , Ollie. I've heard enough Mr. Universe transmissions to have _some_ idea," Thea defends. "I'm not entirely naive, you know... But you heard Anatoly. I'm your family. I'm under protection."

"From those loyal to _him_ ," Oliver points out.

"He's in charge right? So, what does _that_ mean?" Thea bristles.

"Nothing," Oliver replies, shaking his head. "Just… I can't protect you right now, Thea. I can't even protect myself. And while I trust Anatoly, I don't trust all of his men, okay? So promise me. _Promise me_ that until I say otherwise, you stay _here_."

She nods, watching him with newfound seriousness as his words settle over her.

"Okay," she agrees. "Okay. This is your turf. We'll do this your way."

"Thank you," he breathes out, relief settling over him like a blanket, seeping the energy right out of him.

"Will you try and get some sleep now?" Simon asks, drawing Oliver's attention toward the quiet doctor.

"Yeah," Oliver replies. "Yeah, I guess I'd better."

"Good," Simon replies. "I have a sedative that should help with that, if you're willing. The numbing agent should be wearing off soon."

Oliver winces at that. He doesn't like the idea of being knocked out chemically. Too many things might need his attention, but ultimately there's little he can do awake or asleep and he'll be much better off with his wits about him once they meet up with Anatoly tomorrow.

"Yeah, just…" his voice drifts off as he looks over at Felicity who slumbers on completely unaware of the conversations having gone on around with her. "Just… could you push our beds closer together. I need…"

He can't finish the sentence. He can't even explain it. He can reach her hand. He can touch her. That should be more than enough. But it's not. He needs to feel like she's sleeping next to him, like they're still curled up in the sleeping bag. He just… he needs her. That's all.

"Of course," Simon agrees with a smile that's thin but entertained.

Thea's is a whole lot less thin and a whole lot more entertained.

"Gucci, Oliver. _Gucci_ ," she reminds him. "Little designer onesies, is all I'm saying."

He rolls his eyes at her but says nothing as the two of them push his cot closer to Felicity's until they're flush against each other.

Something clicks in him at that. He feels at home. _Right_. And with no small amount of relief, he drapes an arm over her and tugs her a little closer to him, kissing her forehead once she's close enough for his lips to reach. She sighs a little, a contented noise that makes it's way through his body to find root in his soul.

"Oliver?" she mumbles, loopy and distant.

"Go back to sleep," he murmurs against her forehead and she drifts back away.

A moment later, with the pinch of a needle in his arm, Oliver drifts off, too.


	29. Chapter 29

In the long list of things that John Diggle has learned over the last two weeks, chief amongst them is this: He never, ever wants to captain his own ship.

Don't get him wrong. He loves Verdant - loves the crew, the mission. He'd follow Captain Oliver Queen to the edge of the 'verse and beyond. But if he'd ever harbored some secret dream of running his _own_ crew, the last half a month would have killed that notion.

The panic and tension of the attack had given way to the realization that Oliver and Felicity had been left behind. Delivering that news to Thea isn't an experience he'll soon forget. No one had been happy about it, of course. But Thea… well let's just say it's a good thing she doesn't have her brother's muscles.

Repairs had been difficult and rushed with extremely limited supplies. They'd managed to evade their attacker with some fancy flying by Wash that honestly left Digg's head spinning a bit and they'd put down on an uninhabited asteroid to patch themselves up. Thank goodness for Kaylee. Without her, Digg's not sure how they'd have managed to get the ship space-worthy again in Felicity's absence. To say the damage had been heavy was something of an understatement. Whole portions of the ship were just _gone_.

Fixing the ship, however, had been the easy part of captaining it. Holding the crew together when everyone was so on edge was considerably harder. Give Digg a man to protect over a group of stressed out people to inspire and force to treat each other civilly any day. Tempers had certainly run hot that week and a half. But, between him and Mal, they'd managed to rein everyone in. And, frankly, in the long run Digg isn't sure it didn't bring the two crews closer.

Shared near-death experiences have a way of forging bonds, after all.

Regardless, though… Digg will be happy to hand control of Verdant back over to Oliver just as soon as the other man is back on his feet. Literally.

"I'd offer a credit for your thoughts, but seein' as you owe me a pile you can just take one off the top," Zoe comments, sidling up next to him and crossing her arms as they both look past Wash out the windshield.

Digg grins, wide and genuine, but he doesn't turn his gaze away from the planet they're rapidly approaching.

"I've never been happier to lose a bet," Digg tells her.

"I believe you're a giant softie, Mister Diggle," Zoe snorts.

"Don't let it get out. I've got a reputation to keep up," Digg jokes.

"Sure you do," Zoe says, shaking her head and pausing a moment before continuing. "Inara at the loading dock?"

"Yeah," Digg confirms.

"Wash an' I've got this if you wanna go wake the Cap'n," Zoe offers.

"After landing half a ship on an asteroid, landing on an actual flat surface designed for incoming ships feels a bit like like making scrambled eggs after cookin' eggs benedict," Wash muses.

"When's the last time _you_ cooked eggs benedict?" Zoe asks, blinking at her husband.

"I'm a man of many talents," Wash replies. "Some of which are found within hidden depths yet to be fully explored."

Digg shakes his head and smothers a grin at the pilot's now-familiar antics.

"We've got at least twenty minutes before we set down," Digg counters. "Let him sleep. He needs it."

"He's got a long stretch o' time before he's up an' about," Zoe notes. "Can't see that sittin' well."

Digg grunts in reply. She's not wrong.

"Not sure my cap'n would make it through," Zoe ventures.

"I'm _sure_ my captain's first mate wouldn't," Wash chimes in.

"Won't be easy," Digg admits. "Felicity will help some, now that they're not avoiding each other while they take turns staring longingly."

"That there's a stage we're all more than happy they're past," Zoe agrees. "On account of it was ridiculous… sir. But I ain't sure how much them switchin' to starin' at each other longingly at the _same_ time's gonna help matters."

"Think they've figured out yet that they can't do _anything_ physical for a good long while? Or is the captain still focused on walking?" Wash asks, turning to look at the other two.

Digg winces at that. If it _hasn't_ occurred to Oliver yet that his fledgling sex life with Felicity has been greatly impacted by both of their injuries, he's gonna hope he's not around when it does.

"I'm gonna let the doc field that particular topic," he says, shaking his head.

He's been the bearer of bad news enough lately. This one's on Simon.

* * *

When Oliver wakes up, the lights are dimmed and Simon's asleep on the sofa in the corner of the medical bay. If he'd thought the doctor was overstating his condition, that would have been enough to convince him otherwise. That's a problem for later, though. He'll deal with that… somehow.

For now… for now he's on an actual bed with Felicity safely curled up next to him and despite the growing throbbing in his leg. He has a hard time imagining wanting to be anywhere else.

He watches as she edges towards wakefulness, little noises rumbling in the back of her throat as she smacks her lips and nuzzles her face against the pillow. The smile that creeps across his lips is one he's getting used to feeling.

"Hey there sleepyhead," he greets as her eyes flutter open and she blinks her way towards awareness.

"Hey," she echoes softly after a second. "You're awake."

"Noticed that, did you?" he questions with a little laugh even as her gaze grows more serious.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, brow knit in concern.

"I've been worse," he replies, shrugging the shoulder that's not currently pressed against the cot.

"That bad?" she asks, sounding even more alarmed as she tries to sit up.

"Hey, no… no," he says, touching her shoulder to calm her. "I'm okay. I promise. Don't sit up. You need to take it easy, okay?"

She lies back down, probably in part because attempting to sit up most certainly hurt, but she also looks like she's not entirely sure she believes him.

"It aches a lot," Oliver confesses, smoothing his hand down her arm. "But the pain is manageable. It's going to be a while before my leg doesn't hurt. I'm not going to lie about that. I'm not going to lie to you about _anything_. Okay?"

She bites her lower lip and nods slowly, looking considerably more appeased. Relaxation eases her muscles and she sighs as she tilts her forehead to touch his.

"I thought I lost you," she confesses in a whisper.

"But you didn't," he reminds her. "You saved me. You're my superhero, remember?"

"Your _superhero_?" she asks with a little laugh.

"That's what you said earlier," he advises.

"I _did_?" she asks, pulling back a little so she can look him in the eye again. "When did I do that?"

"Not long after Simon gave you 'all of the drugs'," Oliver tells her. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were pretty out of it. But when you decide what color cape you want, let me know."

"A cape? That's a _terrible_ idea," she says, wrinkling her nose.

"It was yours," he points out.

"Well, I've been known to have a bad idea now and then," she says.

"Not in my experience."

"I don't want a cape," she says, voice suddenly thick again. "All I want is you, Oliver. That's all I need."

"I'm right here," he assures her. "I will always do everything I can to come back to you, Felicity."

"I know," she sighs. "I know you will. But you can't control everything, Oliver. And you're not invincible. I'm allowed to be scared sometimes."

"You are," he agrees. "And that was… frightening."

" _Terrifying_ ," she corrects.

"It's over now," he reminds her, stroking the side of her face. "We're safe. We're okay."

" _Ish_ ," she says. "We're safe- _ish_. We're okay- _ish_."

"How are _you_ feeling?" he asks, eyes drifting down to where he knows the gauze is taped to her side beneath the dressing gown she's wearing.

"Sore," she confesses. "Simon says it'll be about a week or so before he takes the stitches out. Maybe less depending on how fast I heal."

Oliver nods at that. It sounds about right, based on his own experiences. He's incredibly grateful that her injuries weren't more severe, but he's also increasingly aware that she's going to be healed up and out of the medical bay way before he is. And his concern about her in the presence of the Bratva without him at her side is no small one.

"I know going to Anatoly was your idea," he starts, licking his lips when he pauses to collect his words. "And it was a good one."

"I sense a 'but' coming," she notes.

"But… but I think there's something going on with the Bratva. I don't know what yet, but Anatoly wants our help with something," he tells her. "That makes me uneasy."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why would he need _your_ help? Doesn't he have like… a planet of people at his command?"

"That's why I'm worried," Oliver tells her. "At least in part."

"Go on," she urges, propping herself up slightly to rest her chin on her palm.

"He knows I'm hurt badly enough that I'm of no use to him right now. And he _still_ wants the crew's help," Oliver tells her. "That means one of two things. Either he needs a specific skillset he doesn't have access to."

"...Which probably means me," Felicity echoes, brow furrowing.

"Or he needs someone from the outside because he doesn't know who to trust on the inside," Oliver continues.

"Or both," Felicity muses.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "Or both. You can see why that concerns me, right?"

"Of course," she sighs. "But we don't have much of a choice. It sounds like the ship won't even make it to another planet without repairs. On the up side, though, it's not like I'm in much of a position to help with anything for at least another week unless it's from my hospital bed."

"That is… true," Oliver says. "Maybe we're both overthinking this. Maybe I'm wrong. It's hard to tell with Anatoly sometimes."

"Well… I'm sure we'll find out more soon. There's no use worrying about it now," Felicity tells him.

"You're right," he agrees. "But it doesn't hurt to be aware. You and Thea both will be protected to some degree because of your connection to me. The rest of the crew, too, to a lesser degree. But don't underestimate Anatoly, Felicity. He does a very good job of making people forget he's the leader of violent group of mobsters. He's not all toasts and loud, happy greetings, okay?"

"But you said I'm protected," she says cautiously.

"No one will lay a finger on you, but that doesn't mean Anatoly won't try to manipulate you," Oliver tells her firmly.

"Sometimes even our friends feel like enemies," Felicity sighs.

"Sometimes they're both," Oliver acknowledges.

"At least it's a huge step up from Salvati and his men," Felicity says.

Maybe it's her tone, maybe it's that she says Salvati instead of Bertinelli, but something at those words give Oliver pause. His memories of everything after being stabbed are hazy at best, but he remembers the gun going off in Felicity's hands. He remembers the light shutting off in Salvati's eyes and him falling to the side.

Taking a life, taking _any_ life, costs something. He knows that incredibly well. Yes, she hadn't had a choice. And yes she saved his life by taking Salvati's. He knows she doesn't regret that. But he also knows it's not as simple as that.

"Did you want to talk about it?" he asks her finally.

"About what?" she questions.

"Salvati," he replies. "And what happened."

She pauses at that, looks down at the cheap, crisp sheets on her cot and picks at some imaginary lint with her unpainted fingernails.

"I'm not sorry he's dead," she announces after a few moments of total silence. "He was a horrible person."

"He was," Oliver agrees.

"There wasn't a choice. I don't regret killing him," she says.

"You shouldn't," Oliver tells her. "You did what you had to do. We both know that. But it's okay to feel more than one way about this."

"What do you mean?" she asks, looking back up at him.

"I mean you can be mad at him for forcing your hand and sorry that you had to do it without that meaning that you regret it," he advises. "You absolutely did the right thing, Felicity. But that doesn't mean it's an easy thing to live with."

Those aren't easy words for her to hear. He can see that immediately. Her lips pinch together and she withdraws a little into herself. Not much. She doesn't pull away when his hand settles over hers against the sheets, but something shutters in her eyes and he knows from rather painful experience exactly what she's going through.

"I have _been_ there, you know," he points out. "We don't have to talk about it. But if you want to… that's okay, too."

"I just… I wonder if he has a mom," she says a little brokenly, her fingers tangling with his as she speaks. "Or a wife or kids. Is there someone who loves him somewhere? Did I kill someone's son or husband or father? Because… yeah I had to do it. But that won't matter to his widow."

"The first man I killed was almost an accident," Oliver tells her, staring at their hands as his thumb strokes hers. "It was one of Fyers' men and I was cornered. My hands shook so badly that it didn't even surprise me when he knocked the knife away. I was losing. Badly. But then we tumbled down a cliff. He hit a rock. I didn't. That one I almost didn't have to blame myself for. The next time was… almost too easy."

"What happened?" she asks, her voice quiet but curious.

"I put an arrow through Fyers' neck. He had Shado. He was going to kill her. He'd already killed Yao Fei and he'd just tried to blow up a transport vessel full of civilians that had a route dangerously close to the rim," Oliver says, looking up to meet her gaze. "That was the first time I consciously chose to kill someone. It wasn't as hard to live with as I would have thought. Other times were harder."

"What do you think made them harder?" Felicity questions.

"That I didn't always have to do it," Oliver answers simply. "A few months after Fyers, some other men came to Lian Yu."

"Looking for the mirakuru?" Felicity guesses.

"Yes, but we didn't know that then," Oliver tells her as the horrible memories of that time suck him in for a moment, just a moment, before Felicity's presence drags him back to the here and now. "They had Shado. They were questioning her, threatening her. One of them hit her. And I just… I charged in, tackled him, beat him with a rock until my hands were covered in his blood. I'd already beaten him, Felicity. There was no question. And I killed him anyhow. I remember… sitting on this log just staring at my hands wondering who I'd become."

"He threatened someone you loved, Oliver," she points out, playing with the ring on his finger in a way that's probably unconscious. "That would make anyone go a little crazy. It doesn't change who you are."

Oliver shakes his head in amazement.

"That's pretty much what Shado said, actually," he tells her.

"Good," Felicity says. "While I'd much prefer there not be any more gorgeous marooned women from your time on Lian Yu, I'm glad you had her. She sounds like she was a smart woman."

"She was," Oliver agrees. "Apparently I have a thing for smart women."

" _Do_ you now?" Felicity asks, not bothering to fight back a grin as her eyes dance with delight.

"Well… maybe just the _one_ , these days," he admits.

" _Maybe_ just the one?" she teases.

" _Definitely_ just the one," he corrects himself.

"That's more like it," she says, leaning in and kissing him.

It's long and gentle but it doesn't lack for intensity at all. There's no chance for escalation at this point. They're both far too injured for anything more than tender touches and soft kisses. And, even if they weren't, Simon's asleep in the corner. So he savors this instead, the easy press of her lips against his that somehow makes him feel light and grounded all at once. He could lose himself in her touch. He's loved other women before, but no one has ever affected him quite like she does. It's startling how quickly he's come to crave that.

" _Ahem_."

"Hey, Digg," Felicity greets, pulling back scarcely an inch from Oliver's lips and looking past him toward the door.

"As temporary captain, I'm strongly considering implementing rules about openly fraternizing," Digg says, his tone as dry as sandpaper.

"Did you need something, Digg, or did you just drop by to be bitter that _your_ wife's not on board?" Oliver asks, turning his head so he can see the other man out of the corner of his eye.

If he hadn't put such an emphasis on the 'your,' probably Felicity wouldn't have sucked in a quick breath and Digg's eyebrows wouldn't have shot up considerably. Probably. But he had. And the implication of exactly what he considers Felicity to be to him had been clear as day.

"You two find a priest on that moon that I'm unaware about?" Digg questions.

"That's not… what I meant," Oliver says, even though really… it kind of was. "What did you need, Digg?"

"We're landing now," Digg tells him. "Anatoly's set to come on board. He wants to see you. Thought you might want a heads up."

Oliver winces.

"Yeah, thank you," he says after a moment. "We'll try to be… more presentable by the time he's here."

"Look, man," Digg says. "I know you don't like being in that bed. If it were me, I'd feel like it gave everyone else the upper hand. But we've got your back. You don't need to stand in order to stand your ground with Anatoly."

"I appreciate that," Oliver says genuinely.

Digg nods.

"Maybe see if doc'll let you put on some pants, though," he advises. "Might make a better impression."

"You know, John… bedridden or not, my aim is still pretty good," Oliver tells him.

John just chuckles at that and turns to leave.

"Come on," Felicity tells him, sitting up with only the smallest of winces. "Let's get that blanket over you."

"What?" he asks as she tugs the thin hospital blanket up over his waist.

"You and I both know there's no way you're getting pants on right now and Digg's right," she tells him, tucking the blanket under his sides a little. "There's bedridden and then there's _bedridden_ , know what I mean."

"Okay," he says with an agreeable laugh, even though she's somewhat ridiculous. "You, however…"

Sitting up all the way has dropped the blanket off her entirely and made it incredibly clear that she's wearing an exceedingly thin hospital gown with nothing at all on underneath it. If he makes a pained little noise in the back of his throat as it becomes exceedingly obvious that she's not wearing a bra, well… he feels like that's totally understandable.

"You need to put something else on," he tells her heavily. "Anatoly doesn't get to see you like that."

He doesn't want _anyone_ to see her like that but him, but he bites his tongue instead of letting that bit out.

"What? A half-starved nearly-gutted mess who hasn't had her hair washed in weeks?" Felicity asks with a little laugh. "I'm hardly sexy at the moment, Oliver."

He licks his lips as he lets his eyes trail down her body, tracing curves and greatly enjoying how the light directly _behind_ her works to his benefit at the moment, shining straight through the material.

"You have… absolutely no idea," he tells her.

She shakes her head like she's humoring him, but grabs a nearby sweater and pulls it over her robe, tucking her legs back underneath her own blanket as well.

"Better?" she asks.

It's a loaded question. It's not better for _him_ , clearly. He'd been very much enjoying the view. But it suits their current needs much better.

"As good as we're getting," he decides.

"Okay then," she says, her tone chipper and light. "Bring on the Bratva."

* * *

Inara goes to work well before her clients ever show up. Her job requires a great deal more of her than most people would imagine. It's not just sex. It's not even just companionship. It's providing a persona, an _experience,_ and that requires preparation. That requires _time_.

She has her rituals, dozens of little steps that help her don the armor of a companion, give her the mask that's required to do what she does.

Anatoly might not be a client, but preparing to meet him feels very much the same.

This time, though, she's not exactly working alone. Digg's on her left, Zoe on her right. There's an odd kind of comfort in that, seeing as this isn't her typical sort of business. It feels more like a team effort and she's quite grateful for that, even if it surprises her.

"Inara, Дорогая моя! Как ваши дела?" Anatoly greets as he steps on board the ship with two men on either side and his arms flung wide in greeting.

"Здравствуйте, Mister Knyazev. I am well. On behalf of our entire crew, I'd like to welcome you to our ship and thank you for your hospitality," Inara says, dipping her head slightly in recognition.

" _Anatoly_ , dear girl. I have told you, yes?" he says.

"If you wish," Inara agrees.

"Your wave surprised me, Inara. I admit," Anatoly tells her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing each cheek in greeting. "And I am a man not easily taken by surprise."

"I should think not," Inara smiles. "We know our request was unexpected. I will presume to speak for Oliver when I say both of us wish this visit were under better circumstances."

"Yes," Anatoly says, his features grave and his voice serious. "You have much need of repairs. It is most fortunate that you travel by force of good will and luck, otherwise you would be dead in space some ways back, I believe."

"Good will, luck and a fantastic engineer," Inara smiles.

"Yes, Oliver's little blonde, no? The one who is remarkable with computers?" Anatoly prods.

"She is excellent with computers and a gifted engineer, but she's been unavailable lately. She was hurt along with Oliver," Inara tells him. "Speaking of which, I should make introductions as I am certain you will want to go see Oliver shortly. Anatoly, I believe you know John Diggle? He's acting as captain in Oliver's stead at the moment."

"Ah, yes," Anatoly says, ignoring Digg's outstretched hand in favor of _also_ kissing the man on both cheeks. "Oliver's most trustworthy first mate. It is good to see you well, my friend."

"And you, Anatoly. Welcome aboard," Digg says, recovering quickly from his surprise.

"And this would be Zoe Washburne," Inara says gesturing to the woman at her side. "You may remember her as Captain Malcolm Reynolds' first mate from the ship Serenity."

Zoe, at least, is better prepared than Digg for the inevitable cheek kisses.

"Of course," Anatoly agrees. "It is most difficult to forget a beautiful woman with impeccable aim."

"It's good to see you again, Anatoly," Zoe smiles thinly. "Even if the circumstances aren't a whole lot better."

"This was long time ago, yes? It worked out in the end," Anatoly says, waving off her words as if they were a gnat.

"Never does sit right by me, leavin' a job unfinished," Zoe notes.

"Yet, sometimes the opportunity disappears. This is business. I know this," Anatoly says, unaffected. "Now tell me, how is it that my favorite profiteers and my favorite Alliance-bred captain have come to share a ship? This seems as though it has a story, no?"

"Practically a whole novel," DIgg agrees dryly.

"You will fill me in on this story over vodka later tonight," Anatoly decides. "First I must see my good friend Oliver."

"It might be... a bit crowded in the medical bay," Inara notes, tilting her head toward Anatoly's men.

"No, no," Anatoly counters. "My men are not here for Oliver. They are here for Verdant. Perhaps Zoe might gather your engineer and review the worst of the damage with them, so we can begin to understand what supplies we will need."

"Mighty generous of you," Zoe says with a nod. "I'd be happy to give them a tour of the damage."

"It is done!" Anatoly declares. "Now, Inara, Mister Diggle, let us see Oliver."

The three of them head down the hallway together as Zoe disappears in the other direction, leading the other four men toward the engineering room where Kaylee undoubtedly has a list of materials already prepared for the ship's repairs.

Inara keeps pace with both of the men, looping her hand into the crook of Anatoly's elbow when he offers it to her. Small talk is easy, deceptively so. Years in the companion business have taught Inara that communication comes in many forms. The precision with which Anatoly chooses his words says precisely as much as what he chooses to say.

Dealing with the Bratva always feels like piecing together a giant puzzle she doesn't have all the parts to. Sometimes it's a challenge she enjoys, but not when her whole crew is at the mercy of the Bratva's giving nature. Ultimately, though, Anatoly's interest in her is passing. It's Oliver he's here for and it's Oliver who holds his attention. This is never more evident than when they reach the medical bay.

"Oh Oliver, Oliver, Oliver," Anatoly sighs, walking over and gripping Oliver's forearm. "This is the worst I have seen you, my friend. And we have been through some very rough times in days past!"

"I'll be fine," Oliver tells him with a smile that Inara can easily see is masking his pain and unease. "Just like the ship. All I need's a few repairs and a little down time."

"Your ship, Oliver. She is broken," Anatoly says, as though he's informing Oliver of this for the first time.

"She'll get better," Oliver assures him. "And so will I."

"Your ship has as many lives as you, it seems," Anatoly tells him. "This is very lucky. But Oliver… I worry about this injury. This is… delicate time."

"How so?" Oliver asks, instantly more alert.

Anatoly hesitates, turns to look at Inara and Digg, casts a glance to the thus-far-silent Felicity.

"If you want our help, Anatoly, you're going to need to give them information, too. I'm not going to be able to even stand for a month," Oliver says with blunt truthfulness.

"The delicacy of this… if word gets out, I will know who has broken my trust," Anatoly says.

There's no mistaking the threat in his words. He might call Oliver 'friend' but this is _business_. There is no question about that.

"If word gets out, they'll answer to me first," Oliver promises. "But it won't. I know my people. And so do you."

Anatoly looks moderately appeased by this, but the line of his mouth is still grim in a way that says as much about the situation as his words.

"We can't help if we don't know, Anatoly," Oliver remind him.

"There is… unrest," Anatoly allows.

"In the Bratva?" Oliver asks.

"In the main compound," Anatoly confirms. "I cannot say who. I do not know. But there is someone highly placed who is making moves against me."

"You want us to help figure out who it is," Oliver realizes.

"I have plans in motion, but your help fixes many problems for me. The Brotherhood depends on control," Anatoly says. "Anything else is chaos. No, worse than chaos. Is anarchy. This… _person_ \- or perhaps persons - they cannot upset the balance. The hierarchy… it is important, Oliver."

"I know," Oliver agrees. "You know I do."

"You see now why the timing of your injury is most unfortunate… for _all_ of us, even if your presence is much appreciated," Anatoly points out.

Oliver lets out a pained and frustrated noise as his face tightens in annoyance at his own limitations. Inara knows exactly what Anatoly is saying. Digg looks like he might, too. And Oliver surely knows. But Felicity's obvious alarm shows that she hasn't pieced it together yet.

"Why?" she demands, looking at Oliver.

He sighs again and looks at Felicity, obviously reluctant to explain it.

"Oliver… _why_?" she asks again, more forcefully.

"Because it makes me look weak," Oliver tells her. "And because it makes me an easy target."

Felicity blinks back at him a moment before her jaw tightens in a hard line of indignation.

"Do strong men not get stabbed in the Bratva then?" she asks.

"Felicity…" Oliver starts, shaking his head.

"No, Oliver, explain it to me because that's _ridiculous_ ," she insists. "Two _weeks_ on the coldest moon in the entire 'verse stuck in the wilderness with no supplies only to get captured and tortured by the Italian mob - which we escaped from by the way - and I'm pretty sure we're a lot of things but weak isn't one of them."

"I know you're worried but it'll be fine. I promise, okay? I'll be fine," he placates, grabbing her hand and smoothing his fingers across her knuckles. "I know how this works. I'm not scared of the other captains. You shouldn't be either."

"This isn't me scared, Oliver," she clarifies. "This is me mad. They don't get to circle around you like vultures just because you got stabbed."

"I see now!" Anatoly declares with a bombastic joviality that is completely at odds with the serious tension being put off by the obviously worried Felicity. "This is making sense, Oliver! Your woman is not just a beautiful lover. She is your friend! I understand your declarations of being a changed man, now."

"She's protected," Oliver insists, turning toward Anatoly. "Her and my sister both. If anyone so much as _looks_ at either one of them the wrong way... confined to this bed or not, I swear it will be the last thing they do."

"You mustn't worry so much, Oliver," Anatoly tsks. "You ensured her protection the moment you put that ring on her lovely finger."

"Wait, _what_?" Felicity asks, eyes darting around the room.

"The Bratva is family, Felicity," Inara supplies. "By wearing that engagement ring, it declares you're part of that family."

"But that's-" Felicity starts.

"Incredibly helpful," Oliver interrupts, looking at her with a searing intensity. "And I'm glad it's a protection I can offer you."

"But…" Felicity starts again, a confused look passing her face. "I'm protected as your… as your fiance, but you're possibly in danger because you're hurt? How does that work?"

"It is Bratva!" Anatoly exclaims, as though that explains everything. "You will catch on quickly enough, I think. You are bright girl and Inara knows much of the Bratva, as does your intended of course."

His joviality does nothing to distract Oliver from Felicity, though. Inara's fairly certain at this point that there's little that could. The way he looks at her sometimes - like he might find all the secrets of the 'verse in her eyes, in the slope of her neck, in the expressive gestures of her hands - it's the sort of thing Inara wishes they'd been able to teach at the academy. But you can't fake love like that. She knows. She's tried.

"Because you'll be my wife, you'll be safer," Oliver tells her, his thumb tracing over the ring. "I want that for you, okay? Let me give that to you."

There's no question in Inara's mind that he's asking more than he's saying here. But Felicity's looking at him like he's asking a question in Russian and she doesn't speak the language.

She's going to have to learn.

"Okay," Felicity says quietly.

"This is joyous occasion!" Anatoly declares. "Would that you could stand, my friend, I would throw you such a celebration of your union. You realize, though, not all will be as happy as I am, yes?"

"That thought… had crossed my mind," Oliver admits.

"You have ex-girlfriends here, _too_?" Felicity questions.

The wince Oliver gives is answer enough.

"Are they at least less murderous than your last one?" she asks.

"Is Bratva, my dear," Anatoly tells her conspiratorially. "'Less murderous' is a very relative term."

"Fantastic."


	30. Chapter 30

Ultimately, they can't stay on the ship while it undergoes repairs. It's an incredibly noisy and crowded process that just doesn't work with people aboard. This makes Oliver uneasy on a lot of levels. Felicity picks up on _that_ much immediately. He likes the security of the ship, of _his_ ship, but more than that… more than that he doesn't want the Bratva men to see him being carted about in a wheelchair. It's not pride, exactly, although she's sure that plays a part, too. Mostly his concerns are more practical than that. Looking weak is not an option right now.

They all move into Anatoly's compound in the middle of the night, his halls cleared of men to afford them some measure of privacy. It's to Anatoly's benefit as much as it is to Oliver's. Felicity's under no illusions that the mob boss is doing anything out of the goodness of his heart, even for Oliver. This all works to _his_ advantage, too.

Their merged crew is large enough that they take up an entire wing of Anatoly's main house. He wants to keep them close. Felicity's not entirely sure that's a good thing, but the devil you know… well… he's still a devil, but that doesn't mean he's not the best option, right?

But devil or not, they see Anatoly only sporadically over the next week and a half. And in that time, he never once mentions needing their help again. Felicity's not sure what to make of that, but the longer they can go without having to do anything other than recover, the better. Oliver, however, seems not to share this opinion.

Stagnation doesn't sit well with Oliver. Over all, that's not terribly surprising. He's a very physical man who leads an incredibly active life. That he can't even _stand_ quickly pushes him past annoyed and straight on into grumpy.

The prospect of months of recovery with no sex probably doesn't help either. Felicity has never pitied anyone quite as badly as she did Simon after he had to deliver _that_ piece of medical advice.

It's a week and a half after their arrival when everything starts to change. Felicity's sutures have been out for two days, but she hasn't ventured from their wing of Anatoly's house at all. Truthfully, she's rarely left the room. She's not comfortable on this planet and she's pretty sure her presence is the only thing keeping Oliver from going right off the deep end.

Grumpy Oliver is definitely the least attractive Oliver she's ever met.

It's Inara, surprisingly, who sets things in motion. Or, really, she's just the messenger, truthfully. But ultimately everything that happens in Felicity's immediate future will be something closely linked to Inara in her mind for a very long time.

Kaylee has just left, having painted Felicity's nails a shimmering coppery color before heading off to oversee repairs. Digg will probably stop by for his daily update with Oliver shortly. It's more chit-chat than anything else, but her boys make it all official for some reason. But in between those two visits, Inara shows up.

"Felicity, do you have a moment?" she asks, looking serene as always.

"Moments are something we have a whole lot of," Oliver grumbles from the bed.

"Don't mind him," Felicity says, rolling her eyes. "He's annoyed at Simon, not you."

"It's not like I wanted to do leg presses," he points out with tremendous annoyance. "Dumbbells aren't going to hurt my leg."

"Well… that's not what your doctor said," Felicity counters.

"I need a second opinion," he gripes, looking more like a petulant toddler who hasn't gotten his way than a vigilante.

"Sure, let me go get the Bratva doctor and we'll see what he says," she replies pointedly.

Oliver huffs in annoyance, fully aware that isn't an option. He doesn't want word of the severity of his injury spreading faster than it needs to.

"A few more days," Felicity consoles, stroking along his hairline gently. "I know this is super annoying, like _Carrie Cutter_ levels of annoying, but you're doing great. Really, Oliver, you are."

"Erring on the side of caution is absolutely the best course of action right now," Inara ventures, verbally tip-toeing into the conversation.

"Why?" Oliver asks, sitting up a little straighter and fixing his stare on Inara. "What's going on?"

"You don't need to be overly concerned," Inara hedges. "But some of the ladies have extended an invitation to Felicity to join them for tea."

"The captains' wives?" Oliver asks, displeasure coloring his voice.

"Yes," Inara allows. "Gossip spreads quickly throughout the compound, Oliver. You know that. And news of your arrival followed by not seeing you at all? Everyone is abuzz. When they found out you were engaged, it only fueled speculation more."

"It… might be nice to get out of here for an hour or so," Felicity notes, almost feeling guilty about saying it.

"Don't mistake this for a friendly visit, Felicity," Oliver instructs her. "Those women are every bit as dangerous as their husbands."

"It's a good thing I'm dangerous too, then," Felicity tells him. "I've dealt with mean girls before, Oliver. I know how this works."

"Do you?" he asks. "This isn't a casual meet and greet. They're looking for weaknesses, ways to use you and get under your skin. And they're very, _very_ good at that."

"I'll be there to help her, Oliver," Inara assures him. "She's not going into this alone. But she also doesn't exactly have the option of declining the invitation, does she?"

"I don't?" Felicity asks, blinking back at Inara before turning questioningly toward Oliver.

"You don't," he confirms with a sigh. "We should have spent more time this last week talking about the Bratva and how it works but I just… some part of me didn't want you involved in it. Maybe that's foolish at this point."

"It's not foolish, Oliver," she tells him, sitting next to him on the bed and leaning her head against his shoulder. "A little heavy on the wishful thinking, maybe, but not foolish."

"These aren't good people, Felicity," he tells her quietly. "None of them. Don't forget that."

"You're one of them, Oliver," she points out.

"I'm not a good person either," he says with a humorless laugh. "Not when I'm here. Not when I'm a part of this."

"I refuse to believe that," she tells him, giving him her fiercest look.

"I know," he tells her, affection obvious in his eyes. "That's one of the reasons I love you so much. You see the good. You always do, no matter what. But there's not much good to find in this place."

"The Bratva calls itself family, a brotherhood," Inara says, gaining Felicity's attention. "It's not. Not really. It's a business that expects the loyalty of family. And like any business there's a clear hierarchy that everyone wants to climb the ranks of."

"It's extremely political," Oliver adds. "Secrets and favors are currency and _no one_ knows that as well as the captains' wives."

"So... they're like their own spy network?" Felicity asks.

"Nowhere near that cooperative," Inara advises. "They'll turn on each other as quickly as they'll work with each other."

"How… exhausting," Felicity observes, scrunching up her nose. "Aren't any of them _friends_? Or are they _all_ frenemies?"

"Anna and Katya are sisters," Inara tells her. "Of all the wives, they're the closest thing to friends, but even that might not be the right word for them."

"Allies, more like," Oliver adds. "Their grandfather would never allow one of them to act against the other, but that's not really important right now. There's a lot you're going to have to learn in a very short time."

His heavy sigh betrays exactly how much he dislikes this entire thing. She's not exactly thrilled either, even if honestly the whole thing sounds a little like a spy movie and that _is_ a little exciting. There's no way she's telling Oliver that, though. Plus… plus she's representing Oliver. She's going as Oliver's soon-to-be- _wife_. And that's… well, it sends a flurry of butterflies through her stomach and makes her feel something she can't quite name.

"Has anyone ever, you know… represented you with them before?" Felicity asks, biting her lip.

"Have I ever had anyone important enough to me to be my other half with the _wives_?" he asks her, raising his eyebrows at her. "No, of course not. You're the first. The _only_."

"Okay," she says with not-so-secret delight and a little apprehension. "I just thought… Well, I know you were involved with someone when you were here before."

Oliver groans and rubs at his eyes, but it's the way Inara's watching both of them that draws Felicity's attention. There's something the otherwise very composed woman is clearly not saying.

"That wasn't… like that," Oliver says, his voice pinched and reluctant.

"Alina will be there, Oliver," Inara says, her tone brokering no argument. "And she will be a threat to you _and_ Felicity."

"Yeah," Oliver agrees, sounding both rough and resigned. "I know. I just don't want… I'm not proud of any of this."

"I'm not going to _judge_ you, Oliver," Felicity reminds him. "Whatever happened before, I know who you are now. And I love you. Nothing's going to change that."

"How about I give the two of you a moment alone," Inara suggests. "Felicity, I'll be in my room when you're done."

"Sure," Felicity says. "Thank you."

With that, Inara leaves and it's just Oliver, Felicity, and unspoken truths left in the room. She sort of hates the vulnerable look he gives her before he begins to reply. Her hand finds his instinctively, squeezes his fingers in gentle, solid support. And, finally, he starts to talk.

"I have no shortage of enemies here," he confides. "A lot of them weren't my fault at all, just a part of the way the Bratva works, but it took me a while to figure that out."

Felicity doesn't trust herself to speak now that he's finally talking, so she just nods for him to continue and keeps holding his hand.

"After I got out from under Waller's thumb, I knew I couldn't go home," Oliver tells her. "I was… not in a good place and I'd done things that I didn't want to burden my family with. So I came here. I'd saved Anatoly's life back on Lian Yu and I knew there was a place for me in the Bratva if I wanted one."

"Because you'd saved Anatoly?" she asks.

"And because he knew how useful I'd be," Oliver stresses. "Don't mistake his helpfulness for kindness. It's not."

"Okay…" Felicity nods, taking it every bit as seriously as Oliver seems to need her to.

"I was… incredibly naive when I got here," Oliver says with a rueful laugh. "I had no idea about how the Bratva worked or how much maneuvering and politics were involved. All I knew was I needed someplace to call home where Waller couldn't quite reach and Anatoly offered me that, but I didn't understand everything involved.

"I rose up the ranks quickly. Very quickly. Because of Anatoly's favor and because of my… skill set," Oliver continues. "Looking back, at first I think it was mostly by chance. I threw my lot in with the right people, for the most part, and I got results. But no one moves up the chain of command that quickly without catching the attention of the others. That's where Alina comes in."

She bites her lip and waits silently as she weaves her fingers through his, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought now that he's finally talking.

"I had just begun to understand exactly how much danger there was here, how much everyone was trying to use me for their own purposes," he remembers. "People I'd thought were friends were quickly turning out to be anything but. I was on my own, constantly watching my back."

"That must have been lonely," Felicity comments quietly. "And exhausting."

"It _really_ was," he agrees. "And Alina knew that. She was… sympathetic, at first. She'd grown up in the Bratva. She knew what it was and I guess it all started when she gave me bits of advice. Little things. That Dimitri's favor could be bought with good cigars or that Max wasn't worth my time or that anything Vadim told me couldn't be trusted. It was always small, but accurate and very, _very_ helpful. It grew from there."

"That's not so bad, though," Felicity points out. "She helped you."

"Well, I'm not done yet," Oliver says with a sad smile. "It might have been fine if things had stayed like that. But Alina was beautiful, I was lonely and she had never been coy about her interest in me. Eventually, I started sleeping with her… in spite of the fact that she was married to another captain."

"...oh," Felicity says as the story catches up.

A look of realization must pass over her face because Oliver winces a little.

"Yeah," he agrees. "'Oh' is right. It ended up blowing up in both of our faces."

"Her husband found out?" Felicity asks.

" _Everyone_ found out," he clarifies. "And Felicity… while the Bratva might look the other way or even congratulate a man for having an affair, they aren't going to forgive a woman."

"How delightfully sexist of them," Felicity says dryly.

"The Bratva is a boy's club," Oliver tells her. "It is most definitely sexist. You will not find a woman captain. The wives hold their own kind of power, but it's not equal footing by any means. But that's another thing I didn't really understand at the time."

"What do you mean?" Felicity asks.

"I mean Alina had decided that her husband was never going to get any higher in the family and she wasn't satisfied with staying where she was at in the hierarchy," Oliver explains.

"She thought she was climbing the Bratva politics ladder by trading up?" Felicity asks.

"And instead of moving up, she was very publicly disgraced," Oliver continues. "I was happy to take her to bed at the time, but I wasn't going to take anything further than that. I'd had no interest in a real relationship back then and I certainly wasn't looking to make anyone my wife."

Oliver takes Felicity's other hand in his as he looks at her with so much guilt and regret that it sort of breaks her heart.

"I'm sorry," he says after a moment.

"You don't owe me an apology, Oliver," she tells him. "It does sound like you might owe one to Alina, though, for being unclear about your intentions if nothing else."

"I don't think that would go over very well," Oliver replies. "And I honestly have no idea how to tell her I'm sorry for ruining her life."

"Was she in love with you?" Felicity asks, sort of hating her own curiosity even as she speaks.

"She was in love with the idea of moving up in the hierarchy. And I think she was in love with the idea of leaving Sasha," he tells her. "But me? No. I don't think she was ever in love with me."

"And you weren't in love with her?" Felicity ventures.

"No," he replies. "Definitely not."

"Okay," Felicity decides aloud.

"Okay?" Oliver asks.

"Yeah. Oliver… I told you. I know who you are," she says. "I love you and I know you love me. I don't question that and knowing this doesn't change that. So you had an affair with a married woman before we ever met. Yes, it was a bad choice, but it's not like you cheated on _me_."

"I would _never_ ," he says immediately, sitting up straighter and gripping her hands harder. "Felicity, I would _never_ do that to you."

"I believe you," she nods.

"I don't want you to ever question that," he insists, clearly not ready to let this go. "I respect you and I could never, _ever_ hurt you that way, okay?"

"Oliver, I don't worry about you cheating on me," she promises. "That's not who you are. Not anymore… and besides I could empty all of your bank accounts like _that_."

She snaps her fingers and smiles on the last word. He blinks back in amazement before laughing with the most bewildered look on his face she's ever seen him wear.

"You're incredible," he tells her. "How do you do that? I'm sitting here confessing this horrible, unforgivable thing I did and you make me _laugh_?"

"Maybe _that's_ my superpower," she teases.

"Maybe it is," he agrees, leaning in and kissing her like it's a gift he wasn't sure was meant for him.

She pulls her hand out of his to touch his face as she kisses him back with all the reassurance she can muster. One of her legs swings over his so she's straddling him, but without bearing down any of her weight atop him. He can't handle that yet, much to both of their frustration, but it does put her in a position where she's slightly higher than him for once, leaning down to press her lips to his.

When they part, he looks up at her like she's granting absolution for his sins and he's in wonderment at the idea that he's being given that. For all the wrongs he's committed over the years, by far the worst is his inability to forgive himself, she thinks.

"You're wrong about one thing," he tells her, his hands cupping her elbows gently, stroking his thumbs against the skin of her upper arms.

"What's that?" she asks curiously.

"I do owe you an apology. For two reasons," he tells her. "One is that you will most definitely have a harder time here because of what I did. That's my fault and you shouldn't have to deal with the fall out, but you will because of me."

"And the second?" she ventures, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips.

"Whether I knew you then or not, I owed you better than that," he says.

"Oliver…"

"You're it for me. And I wish I could say I'd always treated other people's marriages with the respect they deserved, because I don't want you to think that's something I think of lightly," he tells her with a gravity that hits her hard.

"We're not… we're not really engaged," Felicity points out, feeling a little breathless.

"No," he agrees. "Not yet."

"Oliver," she chokes out, stroking both sides of his face as she looks down at him.

"I'm not asking now," he clarifies. "But I _will_. Someday. Because you? This? It's everything I want. I knew that before I ever even kissed you. But now… now I _know_ it."

Part of her thinks she'd say yes even if he asked this second. That's a little scary when she thinks about it. They've had a whirlwind romance for sure. There's been one crisis after another and while she doesn't doubt they love each other or that they're happy together, it's a little terrifying when she realizes how quickly she's become inexorably intertwined with him.

"You okay?" he asks, clearly picking up on some kind of vibe she's giving off and _wow_ is this the worst timing ever for these thoughts.

"I'm fine," she assures him, leaning in and kissing him again.

" _We're_ okay?" he asks immediately with obvious concern as soon as they part.

"We're _great_ ," she promises, letting her hands drift down to rest against his chest. "I should go, though. I need to talk to Inara."

"Okay," he agrees, though he sounds far from convinced.

"We're _fine_. I love you. Try to get some rest while I'm gone," she tells him, kissing him swiftly again before she swings her legs off of his lap and slides off the bed.

He grabs her hand as she turns to go though and she looks back to find him still nervous and anxious.

"Be careful," he implores. "And listen to Inara. The other women… they're going to look for ways to use you. Don't give them one. And don't give them any more information than you have to. Be friendly but distant. Can you do that?"

"Can I _not_ ramble when I'm nervous, you mean?" she asks.

"That's… yeah, that's what I'm asking," he agrees.

"I will… do my best," she says stiltedly, wincing as she wonders how exactly she's going to pull this off.

"That's not exactly reassuring," he notes as he furrows his brow.

"Sorry. I'm a really bad liar," she apologizes.

"Also not terribly reassuring."

* * *

The next two hours feel very much like Felicity's back in school, but it's all far more complicated than circuit boards and lines of code. When Inara begins explaining the roots of some longstanding feud between the Federov family and the Popovs, she decides she's incredibly grateful that Oliver's dealings with the Bratva are somewhat limited most of the time. She's not sure how she's going to keep all of this straight.

"You'll be _fine_ ," Inara emphasizes, because apparently mind-reading is something they learn in companion training along with how to remember everything ever.

Actually… maybe it's just mind-reading. She wouldn't need to remember everything then, would she?

"I'm going to be right there with you," Inara reminds her. "I know these women. Companions are always welcome in their circle. I'm not going to let things get out of hand."

"Right," Felicity says, trying to sound more certain than she is.

"Let's go over the basics again, okay?" Inara asks. "Who will be there?"

"Tatiana, Anna, Alina, Natalia and Katya," Felicity recites, because she's managed to commit at least _that_ much to memory.

"Good," Inara says with encouragement. "And their husbands are?"

"Nikita, Anton, Sasha, Maxim and Andrew," she answers before pausing. "Is that right? I think that's right."

"It is," Inara tells her, sitting back in her chair with a pleased look on her face.

"Tatiana's husband is the highest ranking and he made a fortune selling arms to the Brown Coats during the war," Felicity recalls. "Anna and Katya are sisters, both from a far more powerful family than their husbands. Anna's husband is a horrible, terrible person who collects protection money from struggling businesses in Bratva territory. Katya's is no better and bullies people for his brother-in-law. Tea is at Katya's house."

"We should consider leaving the 'terrible, horrible' part out of it for the sake of diplomacy, but… yes," Inara smiles.

"Natalia's husband runs a _series_ of brothels and launders money for the Brotherhood," Felicity says. "How exactly does she feel about her husband being a pimp? I'm curious. I mean it's not like he's running reputable or licensed establishments, right?"

"Not even close," Inara says with distaste. "The girls who work for him are the furthest things from companions I can imagine. All the same, it's best to avoid asking Natalia that while we're in the middle of the Bratva compound."

She's not _wrong_ , obviously, but there's no doubt that the whole situation sits sourly with both of them.

"And then there's Alina…" Felicity sighs, rounding out the group. "Who probably already hates me on principle alone and whose husband is the head of Bratva interrogation. Honestly, could Oliver have picked a _worse_ person to cuckold than that?"

"Well… if Anatoly were married I suppose that would be worse," Inara points out.

Felicity just groans in response before something occurs to her.

"Why _isn't_ he?"

"Why isn't Anatoly married?" Inara clarifies.

"Right," Felicity agrees. "If the wives have their own little covert spy network, why doesn't he have someone in there representing him."

"Ah," Inara smiles. "Because… for all he uses his good-natured mask and the ruthlessness of his business practices, at heart Anatoly is a widower who very much loved his wife. There will be an empty chair for her at the tea. Make sure, whatever you do, you do not sit in it."

"Okay," Felicity breathes out. "Anything else crucial I desperately need to know so that I don't offend someone to an unforgivable degree?"

"No," Inara says, voice light and unconcerned. "Just remember what we talked about and pretend you're having tea with Oliver's mother. If you adopt that level of propriety, you'll be untouchable."

"Inara, I have to tell you, that comparison is not really putting me at ease," Felicity blinks at her.

"It wasn't meant to," Inara replies. "It was meant to prepare you."

"How long do we have until the tea?" Felicity sighs.

"A little over two hours," Inara tells her.

"Good. I'm exhausted," Felicity says. "That's enough time for a nap."

"Oh no," Inara laughs. "It's barely enough time to get ready."

"Get ready?" Felicity blinks. "What do I need to do to get ready?"

"With these women, what you wear is your armor, Felicity," Inara tells her, getting up and moving to her closet. "We need to get you ready for battle."

* * *

Like everything else about this planet, Felicity finds Anatoly's compound to be filled with fake warmth that does little to erase the chill that's seeped into her bones. Maybe that's good, though. It keeps her on edge, makes her more alert and if ever there were a time for that, it's now.

Snow crunches under her heeled boots as she and Inara follow a brick-paved path away from Anatoly's main house to one of the outlying smaller homes. Or, in Felicity's head, more house-sized homes. Any place with _wings_ for guests is on the Moira Queen side of ridiculous in her head.

But maybe that's the nerves talking.

Not literally, thankfully. She's managing to keep her lips shut as they walk, but it's a near thing.

"Chin up," Inara tells her as she knocks on the door of a home slightly more ridiculous in size than many of the others. "You might be new, but Oliver's not. To these women, you're his. You represent him. And you have all the weight of that authority behind you. So act like it."

Felicity blinks at Inara in surprise but doesn't get a chance to say anything before someone opens the door.

"Katya, how lovely to see you," Inara says, kissing the woman's cheeks in greeting. "Thank you for the invitation. It has been entirely too long."

"You visit us so rarely, Inara," Katya says, eyeing Felicity past Inara's shoulder as she speaks. "You are welcome here any time, of course."

"You are generous as always," Inara says, clasping the woman's hands.

"And you… you need no introduction, do you?" Katya asks, backing up and smiling at Felicity in much the same way she thinks a viper might, if it had the capability.

"I'm Felicity," she says with way more confidence than she feels. "Oliver's fiance. It's good to meet you, Katya. Thank you for the invitation."

Katya makes no move to kiss her cheeks and Felicity wonders if that's a slight or just because they don't know each other much yet. She's not sure, but Inara stays quiet so she figures if it's an insult, it's not a horrific one.

"You're welcome too, of course," Katya tells her, brushing her burnished curls behind her shoulder. "As Oliver's intended, you have a place here. I hope you are finding yourself at home?"

"The Bratva has been most accommodating, thank you," Felicity says simply, mentally patting herself on the back for keeping it short.

"You are… very much as I had pictured," Katya hums, appraising Felicity with an openness that she finds a little unsettling.

"Excuse me?" Felicity blinks as Inara tenses and makes a small hum of distaste.

"Where are my manners?" Katya asks, clapping her hands before throwing the door open wider. "Do come in. You must meet everyone. The others are… most curious about you, Felicity. And eager to see you as well, Inara."

"I have never felt anything but welcome in your home, Katya," Inara says.

Felicity's pretty sure she means ' _Sure, I'm the one they're dying to see. Let's go with that._ ' But she's way too polite to say it. Thank you companion training, right? Right. Oh man, she's losing it. Get it together, Felicity. You are Oliver's fiance, even if you're slightly panicking internally at that term. Let's go with another one. This is a mission. You're basically his undercover representative. Channel that.

She mentally repeats the phrase " _I belong here and I am awesome_ " over and over in her head as she and Inara follow Katya into a large, ornate sitting room with four other women already present. She'd like to say that she didn't immediately scan them and try to figure out which one was Oliver's ex-lover, but that would be a lie. She did. She _totally_ did. And her immediate assumption is the statuesque brunette in the corner with smoky eyes and curves that are just frankly _unfair_ and sort of reminds her of Laurel or maybe Helena. She would, however, be wrong.

"Felicity, this is Anna, my sister," Katya introduces, gesturing towards the tall brunette.

If she schools her surprise... well, she'd be sort of surprised by that. But she tries. The introductions continue right up until the very last woman in the room that Felicity would have suspected was Alina.

And yet, it is.

As it turns out, Alina is petite, slim and blonde with pale eyes framed by glasses that do nothing to mask her very clever gaze.

She could have easily passed for Felicity's barely-older sister. It's jarring. In a wholly unexpected way.

"I would guess that Oliver has a type?" Tatiana laughs at Felicity's obvious surprise, tossing a glance at Alina.

"You haven't seen his other ex-girlfriends," Felicity replies automatically.

"It is the ' _ex_ ' part that is important, no?" Katya asks, smiling broadly and blatantly ignoring the tight line of Alina's thinned lips. "Sit, sit. We should have tea, discuss things, get to know each other."

Luckily, it's quite obvious which chair is set out for Anatoly's dead wife. It's gilded and large and sits apart looking very much like a throne. There was never any chance whatsoever that Felicity would have sat in that. Though, admittedly, seating is otherwise somewhat sparse.

But there is, quite thankfully, space next to Inara. Unfortunately, this puts Felicity directly across from Alina, who is looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and absolute burning hatred that tells Felicity immediately she's _pretty sure_ Oliver wasn't entirely correct in his assessment of Alina's feelings about him. It's been… what? Five years? Six? That kind of anger is borne of something considerably more impactful than a meaningless affair. She's almost positive of this.

"You have… such a lovely name. Tell me Felicity, where are you from?" Natalia asks, smiling over the rim of her cup.

"Um, New Vegas," Felicity says.

"Oh I _love_ New Vegas," Natalia declares. "Do you go back often? I'm there frequently as my husband's business takes us there. We should travel together."

"Does it?" Felicity grits out, somehow managing a pleasant smile as she recalls having to walk past the seedier brothels of her hometown on the way to school in years past. "I haven't been back in some time. I've been on Oliver's ship for years now."

"Have you now?" Tatiana asks, looking entirely too interested for Felicity's good. "And what brought you aboard his ship?"

"I'm an engineer and a computer specialist," Felicity tells them. "I work with him. Work _for_ him technically, since he's the captain. I had the skill set he needed for Verdant."

"Oliver is very good at finding pretty girls who can be exactly what he needs them to be, isn't he?" Katya smiles cruelly, glancing toward Alina whose jaw tightens and cheeks burn but says nothing.

" _Excuse me_?" Felicity bristles.

"Of _course_ Felicity knows Bratva wives aren't _employed_ , though," Inara says with a laugh, redirecting the conversation as she places her hand gently on Felicity's arm.

"We have no time for trivial things like _employment_ ," Tatiana announces, wrinkling her nose.

Most of the women share a somewhat distasteful look on their faces as they sip their tea, but it's Alina who catches her eye.

"You went to _school_ to learn this?" Alina asks, obvious longing in her voice.

"Yes," Felicity confirms, feeling very much as though she has unsteady footing in this conversation. "I went to Ariel Institute of Technology on a scholarship."

"Right," Alina says simply. "Of course you did."

"Don't be _jealous_ , Alina. It looks good on no one," Tatiana tells her.

Alina bites her lips together so hard they turn white as she looks away and Felicity can't help but think that there's considerably more to this woman than she'd assumed. Alina doesn't strike her as a woman desperate to climb the social hierarchy - at least not these days - but the longing in her voice at the notion of going to school had almost certainly not been faked.

"Don't mind her," Katya says to Felicity in a conspiratorial tone that's almost certainly as forced as it sounds. "Alina has a tendency to… reach beyond her grasp. Have some of your tea, Felicity. Tell us more about how you managed to land yourself the Bratva's most eligible captain."

And _oh wow_ , now there's a question. Felicity's way more a coffee person than a tea person, but she's super grateful to have the cup in front of her as a delay tactic if nothing else.

She misses the way Inara clears her throat as she leans forward and grabs the teacup, taking a healthy swig before coughing and sputtering at the taste that assaults her tongue.

"Oh _wow_ that is… not Earl Grey," Felicity remarks between bids for breath.

"Is vodka, darling," Tatiana tells her, chuckling as she takes another sip from her own cup. "Welcome to Bratva."

"That's… going to take some getting used to," Felicity says, still coughing.

"You'll manage," Anna tells her slyly. "You strike me as the kind of woman that adapts."

Well _that's_ a statement Felicity's gonna internalize and question later.

"So…" pries Katya, "you and Oliver. Tell us. How did this union come to be?"

"I'm… not sure where to start," Felicity says with a nervous laugh, suddenly quite grateful to take a sip of something considerably more fortifying than tea.

"The beginning is good," Anna supplies, leaning back in her chair in a way that makes her seem like she owns the room.

"In the beginning… in the beginning we were friends. Colleagues," Felicity says, glancing briefly toward Inara who smiles back in quiet support. "I think maybe there was something there even at the very beginning, but it took a while for either one of us to take it further than that. I think… I think we both wanted to deny it for a while. For a lot of reasons. But then one day he kissed me. In hindsight, there was no coming back from that."

"Interesting," Tatiana smiles, all white teeth and calculating eyes. "So you were helping him and attracted to him but some _other factor_ kept you from acting on it right up until he kissed you and then… everything changed?"

She's not looking at Felicity as she speaks, though. None of the wives are. No, their gazes are collectively turned toward Alina, whose eyes are fixed on the teacup she holds in her white-knuckled grip.

"Why are you doing this to her?" Felicity demands, ignoring the way Inara tenses next to her.

"Doing what?" Katya asks with the kind of fake innocence that has always driven Felicity a little crazy.

"Bullying her," Felicity clarifies, even though there was really no question about what she'd meant. "Being cruel. This has to be uncomfortable for her as it is. You don't need to make it worse. That's just mean. And petty."

"Mean and _petty_?" Tatiana asks, looking exceedingly displeased.

"Felicity," Inara says lowly, practically whispering in her ear. "Tread lightly. These are not women you want to anger."

"You are new, Felicity," Katya allows, her tone measured and dangerous, "so I will explain this to you. There are people worth your time and people who are not. The disgraced former whore of your fiance is the latter."

That's when Alina's hand slips and her teacup falls the to floor, shattering instantly and sending shards of porcelain and splashes of vodka in all directions.

"And she's stupid and clumsy too," Tatiana sneers, shaking her head at Alina.

"I'll get something to clean this up," Alina announces, rising as quickly as she can from her chair and hurrying down the hall.

"I'll help her," Felicity decides standing as well.

"Felicity…" Inara says, her tone warning.

"Alina isn't worth your time," Anna emphasizes.

"I think I can figure out for myself who is and isn't worth my time, thank you," Felicity counters crisply. "Excuse me."

She ignores the chorus of huffs and offended gasps behind her as she turns and follows the direction Alina went. It proves all too easy to find her. She's two hallways down standing in front of a broom closet, holding her head in her hands and taking steadying breaths.

"Are you okay?" Felicity asks.

Alina jumps visibly and her entire demeanor shifts back to the stiff, distant woman who had been in the room with everyone else.

"What are you doing here?" Alina questions, caution and disbelief shading her tone.

"I decided I'd had enough fake tea with fake friends," Felicity ventures, taking a step closer. "And besides, I'm not the sort of person who can just sit there and nod while someone's being treated unfairly."

"Of course you're kind," Alina huffs, shaking her head.

"What does that-"

"I wanted to hate you," Alina interrupts. "You're making that very difficult."

"Because… because I have Oliver?" Felicity ventures.

"Because you have _everything_ ," Alina clarifies, her stiffness finally melting away under the heat of her frustration. "You have freedom and _choice_ and education and someone who touches you with kindness. It is bad to not have those things. It is worse to watch them slip through your fingers."

"You weren't trying to move up in the Bratva," Felicity realizes suddenly in amazement. "You were trying to get _out_ of it."

"You cannot suggest such things. Especially here," Alina says, looking around as if she's just realized where they are and exactly what they're saying. "We should not be speaking of this at all. I am a daughter of Bratva. My life has been theirs since I was born. I know this. It is the way of things."

"It doesn't-" Felicity starts, cutting herself off as she realizes Alina has a point. This is not the place for this conversation. "Come on."

"What are you-" Alina begins as Felicity opens a nearby door to the outside and tilts her head toward the opening.

"You don't want to talk here? Let's go somewhere else," she clarifies.

Alina is someone who does not trust easily. That much is obvious. She probably has very good reason for such caution, but ultimately she follows Felicity out the door.

"Where can we talk?" Felicity asks, buttoning up the coat she'd never bothered to remove.

"This way," Alina says, heading down a path toward a wide-open snow-covered clearing with benches and a frozen pond.

There's no one about. No one to overhear. The change in Alina is markedly different as soon as it's obvious they're alone.

"This is a nice spot," Felicity ventures, looking around at the snowy terrain.

"Yes," Alina agrees, her voice soft and distant. "I have good memories here."

"With Oliver?" Felicity asks.

Alina's laugh is dry as she looks skyward like she's seeking answers or maybe strength.

"All of my good memories are with Oliver," she says after a moment. "He listened to me. He _saw_ me. No one had ever done that before. And he touched me like he cared that I felt it. But you cannot possibly wish to hear this."

"I don't," Felicity agrees. "Not really. Especially not when it's so evident that you still love him."

Alina looks down at her hands, neither agreeing nor contradicting her.

"Is he okay?" she asks finally. "A week and a half here and no one has seen him. He is hurt or he would be more visible. I know this."

"He'll be fine," Felicity assures her. "He just needs to heal a little more. He took a knife to the leg."

Alina winces at that, clearly bothered.

"He has so many scars already," she notes after a moment.

"They all help make him who he is," Felicity replies.

"Yes… scars have a way of doing that, don't they?" Alina asks, looking out over the frozen pond, clearly not expecting an answer.

There's a long stretch of quiet after that, but it sits better with Alina than it does with Felicity. She never can seem to resist filling the silence.

"Why don't you just leave?" Felicity asks. "If you're so unhappy here. Why did you need Oliver? Why didn't you just… get passage on a ship and go?"

Alina shakes her head and looks back at her.

"You do not understand this life," she says. "I know nothing but Bratva. I have no family but Bratva. I have no skills, no money. Where would I go? What would I do? Even if Anatoly told my husband and my father that I was permitted to leave and they were not to drag me back, at best I would end up a whore in one of Natalia's husband's brothels. This life is empty, but it is better than that."

"Well I don't accept that," Felicity decides aloud.

"You are beautifully, delightfully naive, Felicity," Alina smiles.

"About the Bratva… maybe," Felicity allows. "But I'm also stubborn."

"Throwing your lot in with me… it is a bad idea," Alina warns her. "I have nothing. To these people I _am_ nothing. Go back to the house now. Tell them you could not find me. It is best for you and it is definitely best for Oliver."

"Oliver and I can take care of ourselves," Felicity counters. "And believe me… he and I are both willing to stand up for who needs help. I'm not willing to leave you here like this. Oliver won't be either."

"Forgive me if that is somewhat hard to believe," Alina replies. "If you'll recall, that is exactly what he did last time."

"Last time he completely misunderstood what was going on," Felicity tells her. "And besides, he's not the man now he was then."

"We shall see," Alina says, clearly unconvinced.

"Yes," Felicity replies firmly, "we will."


	31. Chapter 31

"What do you _mean_ you can't find her?"

The words don't _actually_ make sense in his head, even though they're playing on a loop. She was here. She was _right here_ an hour ago. She'd gone to _tea_ , damn it, not some undercover mission. And Inara had been with her!

The rush of blood pounds in his ears and panic coils in his gut and the need to _do_ something hits him full force. They're in the middle of the Bratva compound and Felicity is nowhere to be found. He's can't just _sit_ here.

"Woah, no," Simon protests as Oliver tries to swing his leg off the bed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Finding her," Oliver says, gritting his teeth as blood rushes to his unused legs in a way that leaves them both tingly and painful.

"You can't do that, Oliver," Inara tells him.

"The hell I can't!" Oliver snaps. "It's _Felicity_."

"She went off to talk to one of the women alone," Simon says. "She probably just got lost. Digg, Sara, Roy, Zoe, and Mal are all out looking for her."

"How could you let this happen?" Oliver asks, turning toward Inara. "Why weren't you with her?"

"I was trying to salvage your fiance's standing with the wives," Inara replies sharply. "You're on thin ice right now, Oliver. You need to tread very carefully."

"Why? What happened?" he asks, suddenly alarmed on a whole new level.

"Felicity has… a very kind heart. That doesn't necessarily fit well with the likes of Tatiana and Katya," Inara elaborates.

"What _happened_?" Oliver demands again a little more forcefully.

"They were picking on Alina. Felicity decided she refused to stand for that," Inara tells him.

Oliver blinks because _obviously_ he heard her wrong. There's no way that Felicity had snubbed the Bratva elite in favor of defending his ex-mistress. Except… oh _god_ that was just so _her_ , wasn't it?

"She… that… it was _Alina_ she went off with?" Oliver asks as the rest of the dots connect to form a picture he really doesn't like. "Why would she do that? What the hell happened?"

"What do you _think_ happened, Oliver?" Inara asks, looking at him like she can't believe that he's this naive. "You know how Tatiana and Katya are. They took every opportunity they could to rub Felicity's existence in her face."

"Why would she even care?" Oliver asks bewildered.

"Oh… Oliver," Inara sighs, shaking her head. "That is… not a question for me."

He's confused, but he's also angry and terrified and those emotions are most certainly winning out over any curiosity about Alina. His mind, his heart, his whole sense of being is focused on Felicity's safety.

"It doesn't matter," he grumbles, bracing an arm on the headboard and pushing himself to stand up on his one good leg in spite of rather forceful protests from both Inara and Simon, who rush to his side like he's going to collapse just from standing.

And, _god_ , he might.

It's amazing how quickly muscle can fade away when it isn't being used. Even _standing_ is taxing, stretching his body to its limits. And that's without having put any pressure on his bad leg, yet.

"Listen to me, Oliver, you physically _cannot do this,_ " Simon implores, gripping him hard by the elbow, half to keep him from falling and half to support part of his weight.

" _Watch me_ ," Oliver growls.

"What in the name of Linux do you think you're doing?"

He's never been so relieved to hear Felicity's angry voice in his entire life. And _boy_ is it angry. She's standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, and incredulity in her eyes as she looks back at him.

"You're okay," he breathes out.

"You aren't going to be if you don't sit down," she replies, crossing the room towards him as he eases himself back onto the bed with a muted grunt of pain. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Nearly," he counters. "I thought I'd lost you."

It's then that Inara and Simon slip quietly out of the room, closing the door behind them. He's so focused on Felicity that he scarcely even notices.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

"You disappeared, Felicity," he points out. "This isn't someplace you can just go for a walk in the snow by yourself. It's not _safe_. I thought… I thought… I have a lot of enemies here. Any one of them would _love_ to use you to get to me."

Her face softens, takes on a sympathetic air, and his muscles unbunch as her hands skirt down his neck to rest on his shoulders. It amazes him how much her presence affects him, how much the feel of her skin against his can breathe relief into his body just as surely as it can arouse him.

"I think you're overreacting," she tells him quietly, digging her fingers into his sore shoulders, spreading relief through him from her hands if not her words.

"I'm not," he counters, head lolling forward as her hands turn him to putty.

"I wasn't alone," she ventures.

"I know. You were with Alina," he says with a dull laugh, looking up at her. "Honey, that's not better."

Her hands stop rubbing, but she doesn't move them. Even if he hadn't already realized there was likely to be a highly uncomfortable conversation about his ex-lover in their near future, he'd have known now. She has tells, little giveaways that tell him when she's gearing up for a heavy conversation. She's doing all of them right now, biting her lip and looking at him hesitantly while she shifts her weight from one foot to the other and worries her thumb against the skin just under the collar of his shirt.

"I think you need to talk to her," Felicity says finally.

There is absolutely no way in which he believes that to be true. It's been _six years_. Their entire affair was a mess. Their break up was a mess. He has no desire to have any kind of a relationship with her at this point. Alina is, quite firmly, in his past. She was a mistake of long ago. One he doesn't _entirely_ regret, admittedly, because at the time he had been so very lonely and she had most certainly helped him figure out the workings of the Bratva. But a mistake nonetheless.

However… since it's Felicity suggesting this…

"Why?" he asks. "What could I possibly have to talk to her about at this point?"

Felicity pauses, rubs her thumbs in little circles against his skin where his neck meets his shoulders while she collects her thoughts.

"I think… maybe you two aren't exactly on the same page about what happened," she says after a beat.

"Felicity… don't take this the wrong way, but… _I don't care_ ," he tells her. "Whatever she thinks happened or didn't happen. It doesn't matter now. It's all very definitely in the past. I don't need closure."

"But she does," Felicity says immediately. "Or… at least I think she does. And she definitely needs our help."

"Felicity," he groans because… yeah, he _really_ doesn't want to get dragged back into the mess of Bratva politics that any interaction with Alina entails. "Why do you think she needs help?"

"She's miserable here, Oliver!" Felicity implores, her voice all impassioned in that way that never fails to hold his interest. "Everyone is horrible to her."

"She told you this?" Oliver asks, skepticism incredibly obvious in his tone.

"I _saw_ it," Felicity counters. "She deserves a chance to be happy. And she can't have that here. We need to help her get away. Find somewhere safe for her to start over."

"Felicity," he groans, rubbing his temples and trying to will away the incredible headache that all of this is starting to inspire. "Just to be clear, you want me to help you smuggle my ex-lover away from her husband - a fellow captain in the Russian mob - and secret her away to start her life over because some women picked on her over tea."

"It was vodka, actually," Felicity corrects.

"What?" Oliver asks, blinking at her.

"Vodka," Felicity repeats. "Not tea. But otherwise, yes. Though, when you put it like that it _does_ sound a little ridiculous."

"You think?" he asks with a dry laugh. "Her husband is never going to let her leave and _certainly_ not with me. I'm not sure what you want me to do."

"For now… I want you to talk to her," Felicity says, repeating her earlier request.

"Fine," Oliver sighs, giving in but already regretting it. "Since it's you asking…"

"Thank you," she smiles, leaning down and pecking him gently on the lips. "You're a good man, Oliver Queen."

He's not so sure she's right about that. But, for her, he tries.

* * *

In all of his years as a doctor - which, admittedly, aren't as many as that statement makes it sound like - Simon has never had a more difficult patient than Captain Oliver Queen. And considering one of his patients is his sister, whose sanity is… transient, at best… that's saying something.

All right, probably River is worse. Captain Queen, after all, has never tried to bite him. So… there's that. But it's still a close thing.

Sure, at first he'd been surprisingly amenable. He'd known he needed to stay off his leg. He'd agreed to strict bedrest with only the smallest of complaints. _Then_ Simon had been forced to elaborate that this also meant he couldn't be sexually active. For months. _Yeah_ … that's gonna go down in history as one of the conversations Simon has enjoyed the very least as a doctor. If looks could kill, Simon's pretty sure he'd be dead several times over. But even that doesn't compare to dealing with Oliver these days.

Anyone would be antsy after weeks in bed, but for someone as active and athletic as Oliver Queen, it's enough to drive him a little bit batty. Add to that a girlfriend/fiance/wife/ _whatever-she-is-to-him-these-days_ who went on a stroll through a snow-covered mob complex with his ex-lover and didn't come back as expected and… yeah, Oliver had turned predictably dismissive of all medical advice.

Thank goodness for Felicity's relatively timely arrival. A minute or two later and he might have tried to walk, setting himself back dramatically on his road to recovery.

Simon had been grateful to escape alongside Inara immediately after that. He'd had absolutely no desire to be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation. And, besides… someone had to call off the search for Felicity.

Now, having found a very relieved Diggle and Sara, who looked like she was spoiling for a fight even _more_ as she left Tatiana's house, Simon considers his duty done to his captain and he's heading back to check on his sister. Or… possibly the ship. He should absolutely make sure that everyone working on the ship is doing all right, right? That's important. Medically speaking. If someone were to get injured working there… well that would slow up repairs, wouldn't it?

Wanting to check on the ship's repairs has _absolutely nothing_ to do with Kaylee being there. Really. It doesn't. He's just being a good doctor.

He's lost in thoughts that only barely contain a certain brash engineer - honestly… they do, he _swears_ \- as he treads along the now-familiar route to the repair bay where Verdant is being worked on. Extensively. He cannot possibly imagine the amount of money Captain Queen is tossing at the Bratva to have his ship repaired, mostly because he can't possibly even conceive of that much money. And it's not exactly like he was raised by the middle class. But the Queens are another breed entirely.

"Doctor!"

The voice is loud and accented heavily in Russian and Simon actually turns to look around in the foggiest of hopes that there's possibly another doctor nearby. There's not. He's it. And for some reason the head of the Bratva crime family is walking swiftly his way.

He really should have gone to check on River instead. This is what he gets for focusing on Kaylee. _The ship_. This is what he gets for focusing on _the ship_ , he means.

Oh who's he kidding? Not himself, that's increasingly apparent.

"Uh… hello, sir. Can I help you?" Simon asks stiltedly, standing so stiffly that possibly if he moved he might break something.

"Is good to see you, doctor," the Pakhan says, clapping a heavy hand on Simon's shoulder that actually makes the doctor exhale an ' _oomph'_ under the impact.

"That's… thank you?" he ventures. "Is there some kind of emergency? Is someone hurt?"

It's sort of sad how much he's hoping someone is hurt. Injuries he can deal with. People are so much harder.

"No, no, is nothing to be worried about," Anatoly says, waving off his concern with broad gestures. "It is you I wished to see. Come, come."

There is no choice. He has _no_ choice. He knows this. Anatoly has been nothing but warm and welcoming. He's stayed here for nearly two weeks entirely by the man's grace. The very least he can do is follow his host. But it still takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to force a smile on his face and make his feet step forward.

"So _nervous,_ doctor!" Anatoly laughs. "You are not being led to interrogation. There are no worries here. Come, come. We shall have a drink and discuss matters, yes?"

"What, ah… what matters are you wanting to discuss exactly?" Simon ventures, squeaking a bit on the last word and really wishing Digg and Sara hadn't disappeared _quite_ so quickly. At least then someone would know where he'd gone.

"This is for private conversation," Anatoly tells him conspiratorially, putting a finger to his lips as he steers them towards a hall heading toward another wing where Simon has not ventured. "Tell me, how is your stay, doctor? Are you and the crew adjusting?"

"We are all quite grateful for your assistance," Simon replies immediately, because there's no other possible answer he can think of to give. "Are you… forgive me, are you sure it's me you want to talk to? Not… Captain Reynolds or maybe Mr. Diggle?"

 _Oh_ is he hopeful.

"No, it is you, doctor," Anatoly laughs. "You are skittish. This would amuse my men. But it would probably not be so good for you. Is best you avoid them, yes?"

"Yes," Simon nods, eyes widened considerably. "Yes, that had… very much been my plan."

Anatoly chuckles in response - _chuckles_ \- which seems a really rather rude response to Simon's very obvious nerves, frankly, but Simon is more than smart enough to keep _that_ thought to himself as the Bratva leader pushes open a door to reveal what appears to be a very large office.

"Come in, doctor. We shall have words. And drink," Anatoly insists, shutting the door behind them and walking over to a small bar. "You drink vodka, yes?"

Half of him would very much like to keep his wits about him, but the other half is thinking that vodka would really probably be a very good idea to help get him through this impromptu meeting. And anyhow, it's clearly expected of him.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," Simon scrambles to respond after a moment.

"This is from one of my favorite distilleries," Anatoly comments, pouring them each some of the clear liquid and handing Simon a glass. "I bought it more than two decades ago. Always delicious until five years ago when it went to _shit_. I had the master distiller… repurposed. Is much better now."

"Re… re _purposed_?" Simon asks, freezing with the glass halfway to his lips.

"Not to worry doctor," Anatoly grins toothily. "This is more than than five years old."

"Oh how… reassuring," Simon says, looking back in mild horror.

"За здоровье!" Anatoly says, raising his glass before drinking.

Simon mumbles a poor approximation of the same before taking a healthy swig. Or, actually, an unhealthy swig. He's not much of a drinker, honesty, and this is _strong_. It burns his throat and sears his lungs as he coughs violently.

"Will put hair on your chest, no?" Anatoly says, clapping him on the back. "Have a seat. We shall talk."

"What are we-" Simon breaks off coughing again as he sits in a much smaller chair than the one Anatoly has moved to take a seat in. "What are we discussing?"

"Oliver," Anatoly says, some of his earlier joviality fading away as he steeples his hands under his chin. "He is doing well? Recovering?"

"Yes," Simon says, shifting the glass between his hands, but feeling slightly more on even footing given the topic. "He's on track, but he still has a long ways to go in his recovery. It was a very serious injury. He's lucky we got to him when we did."

"And his Felicity? I understand she had tea with the wives today?" Anatoly prods.

Simon freezes a little at that, feeling slightly less certain of himself and his place in this whole conversation, giving how precisely that _ended_.

"Her sutures are out," Simon confirms. "The body takes a while to heal completely. She probably won't be quite back to normal for a few weeks yet, but she's able to function near normally, though for shorter periods of time."

"Hm," Anatoly muses. "Long enough to досаждать Tatiana and the sisters."

"That's… I don't know enough about that to talk about it," Simon says, all nerves and stiff anxiety. "If you wanted to talk to her and Oliver-"

"No, no," Anatoly scoffs, waving off Simon's suggestion with a light air that completely contradicts his serious musing of moments before. "The women have their own little politic games. It keeps them amused. It is no business of mine."

He's lying. Simon sees it clear as day, even though Anatoly is clearly an excellent liar. He's deeply interested in whatever happened with Felicity and the other women, but he also won't admit that. Not to Simon, anyhow.

"How long do you think it will be until Oliver can stand, walk about without showing pain?" Anatoly asks.

"Weeks," Simon says instantly.

Anatoly's lips twist and he clicks his tongue in distaste.

"This is unfortunate," he sighs.

" _Why_?" Simon questions reflexively.

Anatoly doesn't answer immediately, instead taking a moment to size Simon up. What he finds, Simon has no idea, but he sits back in his chair and runs his tongue along his teeth like he's reaching some kind of a conclusion.

"This is to stay in this room," Anatoly tells him with all the seriousness and gravity a mob boss possibly can.

"Yes," Simon gulps. "Of course."

"There is talk," Anatoly admits. "Verdant lands here. She is badly damaged. And no one sees Oliver? ' _Why_ ' is the question they are asking. Where is Oliver? Is he hurt? Is he dead? No one knows. And people not knowing… is bad for Oliver and is bad for me. And doctor? I do not like what is bad for me. Do you understand?"

"I… yes. Yes, I think I do," Simon agrees, feeling himself pale a little.

"Good," Anatoly says, leaning forward and bracing his arms against the desk. "So how is it that we are going to fix this, then?"

"You want… you want me to make it so that Captain Queen can walk around right now? I… I can't," Simon says, certain more than a bit of exasperation is eking its way into his voice. "It's medically not possible. Believe me, if I could, I would. He's not the best patient I've ever had."

"Calm down, doctor," Anatoly sighs. "I wish for impossible, but I do not demand it. Not of you. I need solution that fits all our needs. Oliver needs to be seen. _Soon_. And he needs to appear well. He can sit for long periods of time, yes?"

"Yes," Simon nods. "Definitely. He is most of the time anyhow."

"Can he sit through a meeting and appear normal? Unhurt without medication that makes him foggy?" Anatoly asks shrewdly.

"I think so, yes," Simon agrees. "But… sir, why aren't you asking him this?"

"Because Oliver will tell me yes, even if it is not so," Anatoly tells him. "He will believe it, even. But if he cannot, I must know. Now. I can come up with another plan to appease my men, but I cannot have Oliver try to appear well and _fail_. You understand?"

"I think so," Simon says before realizing that his qualified answer has absolutely not appeased the mob boss. "Yes. I mean yes. I understand."

"Good," Anatoly nods. "So tell me, doctor. If we get him to a meeting place. Say… dining hall. Somewhere he can keep his leg out of sight. And we have the other captains come in later. Can he convince them he is strong, healthy?"

"He's lost weight," Simon says. "Two weeks living off the land and then nearly two weeks of bedrest… it's noticeable. But he's alert, sharp. As long as no one thinks it's strange he's sitting, he should be okay."

"да," Anatoly nods. "This is the challenge, is it not?"

"That and getting him in and out unseen," Simon agrees. "He'll need a wheelchair. And he won't like that at all."

"No, he would not," Anatoly laughs wryly, shaking his head. "Restrictions do not sit well with him."

"You have no idea," Simon breathes under his breath, thinking back to Oliver's reaction to the whole 'no sex' thing.

"This is all I needed of you, doctor," Anatoly says. "Thank you for the information."

"And thank you for the drink, sir," Simon says with a tight relieved smile as he moves to stand.

"Please," Anatoly stands. "I am not this 'sir.' It is Anatoly. Or Mister Knyazev if you must be so formal. And after fifteen minutes with you… no offense, doctor, but I think perhaps you must."

Anatoly extends his hand to shake Simon's and the doctor's smile is perhaps a bit fuller at the mobster's words. There's something oddly relatable about the man.

"It's Simon," he corrects in turn. "Or, if you must, Doctor Tam."

It is only the barest of pauses in Anatoly's handshake and the slightest flicker of recognition that glimmers in his eyes that tips Simon off. But it does. Anatoly knows his name. Something very close to panic wells up in the doctor's gut at that. _Of course_ he would know his name. There's a bounty the likes of which the 'verse has never seen on his and River's heads. _Of course_ a mob boss would know about that.

"Well… Doctor Tam… I will wish you a good evening," Anatoly says, betraying nothing of whatever is going on in his mind. "Rest well, doctor."

Simon very much doubts he will.

* * *

When Oliver agreed to meet with Alina, he didn't really mean… now. But that was quite clearly how Felicity had taken it. And, when he thinks about, honestly he'd rather just get this over with anyhow.

He grunts, sits a little straighter and cranes his neck, earning a satisfying pop. There's nothing about being confined to this damned bed that he likes. He's stiff and weak and irritable. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to see Alina. He just wants Felicity. He wants them in his room on Verdant, safe and whole and far away from here.

He can't have that. Not _now_ anyhow. But he holds onto thoughts of it for the near future. They just have to get past this first.

"Yeah," he calls out as someone knocks on his door.

Felicity pulls it open, smiling bright and obviously pleased with herself. No matter how bad an idea he thinks this all is, it's worth it to see that look on her face. He'd do almost _anything_ to put that look on her face.

Alina's next to her, though it takes a moment before he can tear his eyes from Felicity to really notice her. For all the surface level similarities between the two women - something he honestly had never given any thought to before now - they're a study in contrasts. Alina is closed off, visibly uncomfortable and intensely guarded. To some extent, she's always been that way. Though, he can remember when some of that reserved nature had melted away a little. But it's a part of who she is or, at least, a product of the life she's led. It reminds him, with an intense pang of sympathy, that she was exactly as sad and lonely as he had been back when they were together. And, for her anyhow, it appears that very little has changed.

"Hi Ally," he acknowledges with a thin smile.

"Oliver," she greets, standing in the doorway like she's not sure she should really enter the room.

"Come on in," Felicity says cheerily, walking in the room and hanging up her coat. "Can I take your coat for you? Did you want something to drink? I don't have vodka which is maybe like some kind of sin around this place or possibly a snub. Is it a snub? I totally don't mean to snub you. But I could get you some water? Or maybe tea? Like, actual tea. Not vodka-tea."

Oliver smothers a laugh and grins at her, shaking his head in affectionate disbelief. Felicity's runaway trains of thought are always like being allowed an unfettered glimpse inside that brilliant mind of hers and he loves them. He categorically _loves_ them. Even when they're inappropriate or ill-timed. It doesn't matter. It's so _her_ that it draws him in completely every time.

"No, I thank you," Alina says, sounding unsure of what to do with herself in the face of such cheery candor. "I do not intend to stay long. The hour is late and I do not wish to feed rumors more than is inevitable."

Oliver winces at that because she has an excellent point. In a place like this, information is currency and everyone is looking to build their wealth.

"You came over to have tea with me," Felicity says firmly. "Which is exactly what I'll say to anyone who asks. Tatiana and the others can mind their own business."

"There is little chance of that, I'm afraid," Alina tells her. "And Felicity… you must be careful what you say and to whom. Tatiana and the others… they are powerful women. You do not wish to anger them."

"She's right," Oliver says, looking from Alina to Felicity.

"I am _not_ going to be friends with those horrible women, Oliver," Felicity insists, her jaw set firmly and her eyebrows raised in challenge. "We've met a lot of terrible people and while they may not be Malcolm Merlyn levels of awful, those women are not a whole lot better. I refuse to grit my teeth and smile politely at them while they do their mean girl schtick."

"I'm not saying you have to," Oliver agrees, holding up his hands in a gesture of backing off. "I'm just saying it would be in both of our best interests if you could avoid making them angry. That's all."

"I'm not going out of my way to make them upset," Felicity tells him. "But I'm also not going to let them stop me from standing up for myself or someone else."

"This place… it smothers that sort of kindness," Alina warns. "You will not find that sentiment returned amongst any of the wives."

"I don't know," Felicity smiles, looking toward Alina. "You've proven pretty nice so far."

The surprise on Alina's face is so striking that it's almost funny. Oliver's fairly sure no one has ever called her 'nice' before. He's even more sure that most people here wouldn't see that trait as a particularly good one.

"I'm gonna go do… something," Felicity says abruptly. "Let you two talk."

"You don't need to leave," Alina replies immediately.

"Thanks," Felicity smiles before scrunching her nose up adorably. "But this isn't a conversation I should be a part of. I'll be back in a bit."

"Hey," Oliver says, reaching out his hand toward her to grab her wrist and pull her in.

He can't help it. He has to kiss her, even if it's more brief and chaste than he'd prefer thanks to Alina's presence in the room. Sometimes it just overwhelms him how much he loves her. _A lot_ of the time it overwhelms him how much he loves her. And he's so _happy_ to be swept away by that that it takes his breath away.

Fingers span her cheeks as he holds her face and kisses her with gentle affection that he hopes breathes his feelings right into her lips. It only lasts a second. Too short by far, but it still fulfills an immediate need to touch her, love her, and it leaves him feeling more grounded than he had a few moments before. That feeling only multiplies when she steps back and squeezes his hand with hers, all flushed cheeks and biting back a delighted smile.

"Thank you," he tells her, fully meaning it.

Even if he doesn't feel the need to have this conversation with Alina, Felicity's heart is absolutely in the right place and he's intensely grateful for that.

"You're welcome," she says, sounding incredibly pleased with herself and winking at him before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

His eyes follow her as she goes and he finds himself staring at the door for a second even after she's left. There's something about her presence that almost seems to eclipse everything else. And, even when she leaves, a bit of the easy calm she brings to his life lingers in her absence.

"She is lovely, Oliver," Alina says after a moment, standing halfway across the room and looking like she has no idea what to do with her hands. "Your smile with her is lovely, too. I am very happy for you."

"Thanks," Oliver says, smiling at her in a subdued way. "She is pretty fantastic."

"She should not align herself with me," Alina says with raised eyebrows. "We both know this."

"And yet she will," Oliver sighs. "That's just part of who she is. And anyhow, that should help you, right? Help your standing in the Bratva anyhow."

"I do not wish to 'improve my standing,' as you say," Alina tells him, shaking her head at him bewilderedly. "I have never wished this. I do not know where you have gotten such an idea."

"What… What are you talking about?" he asks.

"I have only ever…" Alina pauses, looks around and lowers her voice substantially. "I have only ever wanted _out_ of Bratva, Oliver. I do not know what ever made you think otherwise."

He blinks back at her, trying to make sense of that because it does not fit with anything he thinks he knows of Alina. But then, neither is she a liar. Manipulative, perhaps. Intentionally keeping information to herself, certainly. But not a liar.

"All those years ago," she starts. "I thought… you were so kind to me. I had not seen that in a man before. I had only ever been valued for the information I could get or… as a means to an end. With you I thought… how much better is this? To be listened to and to be cared for. I knew you would not stay here. Not forever. I did not want to move up in Bratva. I wanted to leave it, with _you_."

"Ally…" he says, because honestly he can't think of much else to say in the face of that.

"It is many years ago, Oliver," Alina says, shaking her head and looking down at her fingers. "Your Felicity, she thinks I am in love with you. I think perhaps not. I think perhaps I love the idea of being important to someone, of being seen. This is not something I have here. And I never will. Not if I am stuck having _tea_ with Tatiana and warming Sasha's bed. I wish only to escape this place. It suffocates me. I cannot bear it."

He's nodding along before he even realizes it. There's a raw vulnerability on her face that shows through the cracks in her typically restrained nature. It's stark and exposed in a way that betrays the truth of her words.

"I thought... " he starts. "Back when everything… went bad, just after Tatiana caught us in bed together, Sasha was ready to kill me. He might have if Andrew hadn't stood up and said I wasn't the only one you were trying to trade up with."

"Andrew?" she asks, looking stricken. "Katya's husband?"

"Yes," Oliver tells her.

"Katya whose sister was constantly hunting for a husband to secure her place at that time?" Alina asks pointedly.

"That's…" he pales a little as everything shifts slightly in his head, making the picture she's presenting slide into focus. "They set us up to get you out of the way? They thought I'd get involved with _Anna_ if it wasn't for you?"

"This is what I would think," Alina agrees. "There was no one but you, Oliver. Not even Sasha much of the time we were together. I couldn't stomach the dispassionate way he touched me. It made me sick. I had many headaches those months."

"I'm sorry," he tells her, hoping that she can read how much he means it. "If I'd known… I don't know what I would have done. I was a mess then, too. And, Ally… I always liked you. You were important to me. But neither one of us was in the kind of place to turn whatever we had into something more. Still… if I'd understood what was really going on, I'd like to think I would have tried to help get you out."

"I know you would have, Oliver," she says with a little laugh. "I do not blame you. How can I? You are the best man I have ever known."

And that - plus the realization that it's probably true - is the thing that cements everything for Oliver. They're going to help her. _Somehow_. She doesn't deserve to live like this. No one does.

"I don't know how we'll get you out of here, Ally, but we will," he tells her.

The relief that sweeps over her face is gut-wrenching. To see Alina - reserved, cautious Alina - near tears, it speaks volumes about how bad things are for her here.

"I would be… most grateful, Oliver," she manages after a moment, her voice breaking twice as she speaks.

"It will be a few weeks," he cautions. "My ship needs repairs. I need to heal. And Anatoly needs a favor from me. Plus, we need to figure out how to get you away without the Bratva coming after you."

"Yes, I know this," she nods, swiping at her reddened nose. "What is a few weeks compared to a lifetime of this? If there is anything I can do to help, Oliver… you know I will, yes?"

"I know," he agrees. "And you might be able to. You know a lot more about the inner workings of the Bratva these days than I do."

"I hear much," she agrees. "I am forgotten in most rooms, ignored as if I am furniture. They speak. I listen."

He winces a little at the picture that presents, the sort of life she leads, but ultimately - as regretful as her life is - it may prove incredibly useful.

"If there's something specific we need, I'll let you know. Or Felicity will," he tells her. "Until then…"

"I will pass along anything I hear that might aid us," she assures him. "To you or to Felicity."

"I trust all of my crew," he tells her, pausing as he rethinks that. "Well… maybe not Jayne. And River's… I wouldn't count on her to get the message right. But anyone else."

She hesitates at that before nodding. But she won't go to anyone else unless she has to. He knows this instantly. Alina's trust is hard-won. Felicity might have won it by virtue of being herself and he might have regained it back with little effort, but he can't see her extending that faith to Mal or Digg or even Inara.

"How bad is your leg?" she asks, nodding toward his blanket-covered lower half. "The others… there is talk. You realize this, yes?"

"I figured there must be," he sighs. "It's… not great."

"It was a knife, Felicity said?" Alina ventures.

He's _pretty_ sure he explicitly told Felicity _not_ to discuss his injury with anyone, but he can't be surprised that she did. Not with Alina, anyhow. Not if she'd decided they both cared about him.

"Yeah," Oliver admits roughly. "Helena Bertinelli stabbed me and then a piece of the ceiling slammed into it when a grenade went off while the others were trying to save us."

"You will recover?" she asks.

"The doctor thinks I'll get close to where I was before the injury, but my leg will never be entirely the same," he admits, even though it's a thing he definitely chooses not to believe. "But it's going to take months for that to happen."

"This is why you are here," she realizes. "For protection. The Bertinellis, they would make chase, seek retribution."

"Yes," Oliver agrees. "They did. And our ship was heavily damaged even before they got to it."

"By who?" Alina asks sharply.

"We don't know," Oliver tells her.

"This is… a very dangerous life you lead, Oliver," she tells him.

"Still want off this planet?" he asks with a smile.

"I would take the danger of a life like yours over the dull invisibility of a life like this a million times over," she tells him bluntly. "I want only to forge my own path, discover who I am when I am not reduced to a Bratva daughter or Bratva wife."

"You deserve that," he agrees.

"And you deserve every bit of the happiness you have found in Felicity," she tells him, her eyes dancing with genuine delight. "It is good to see you smile and mean it, Oliver. You are lucky to have found her."

"I am," he says, his smile widening. "Thank you."

"I shall let you rest now," she announces. "I am glad we met, Oliver. I had not wanted to."

"Felicity's very persistent when she wants something," Oliver laughs.

"This is not difficult to believe," she laughs quietly. "Have a good evening, Oliver."

"You too, Ally," he tells her. "If you see Felicity on your way out…"

"I'll send her in," she agrees.

"Thank you," he tells her.

"Of course," she agrees before turning and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

It's jarring to realize how wrong he'd been, but there's no doubt in his mind that he had been mislead. And, if he's being honest with himself, it had been Alina who had paid the price for that. There's no small amount of guilt that comes along with that realization.

He'd known full well what the Bratva was like for women - the powerlessness and lack of choice. But he hadn't much regretted leaving Alina to it at the time, not when he'd believed she had simply been using him to claw her way up to the top. Now, though… now he regrets it.

For all the unexpected pitfalls in his life, he has been intensely lucky as well. He knows that. He's _always_ known that. From his very privileged childhood to their narrow escape from the Bertinellis, he's been fortunate. But nothing compares to how lucky he is to have Felicity in his life. He's pretty sure that nothing ever will.

"Hey you," she says, peeking her head in the door with kind of smile that makes his heart lighter. "Good talk?"

"You were right," he says, watching as her grin spreads a little wider and she steps fully into the room.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right. Could you repeat that?" she asks, an adorably smug and delighted look taking over her face as she closes the door and practically _saunters_ his direction.

 _Man_ does his brain go blank when she does that.

"Get over here," he tells her, his voice low and a little more Arrow-like than he'd intended.

Her eyes widen at that in surprise and she actually stops a few feet away instead of continuing forward, which makes him growl in frustration.

"Get over here where I can touch you before I get up and try and drag you back to this bed," he says a little more clearly.

"Oliver!" she laughs, stepping forward as she seems to realize he's _really_ not kidding.

She's barely within reaching distance when he grabs her wrist and tugs her onto the bed with him. Instantly, his hands go to her face, fingertips cradling the back of her head as he rests his nose against hers and just breathes her in.

"What is all this?" she murmurs, dropping a quick kiss on his lips and shifting the way she's sitting so that she's more comfortable and fully avoiding his injured leg.

"You're incredible," he tells her. "I can't even… I don't even know that I can explain it. This place, this… whole world… everything about it is untrusting and dark and brutal. But _you_. You not only don't let that touch you, you change it."

"Is this because of Alina?" she questions, her hands resting on his chest as she traces the collar of his shirt with her fingertips.

"No," he counters immediately, dedicated to being exceedingly clear on this point. "It's because of _you_. Because you see the best in everyone. Because you bring out the best in everyone. Because… I see this place, I see what my life was, and then I look at you and… _god_ , Felicity, you have made my life better in a million ways. I have never _in my life_ been more certain of how much I love you, how much what we've built together means to me."

"Oliver," she murmurs out, before dipping her head to kiss him softly.

If he escalates that soft kiss into something significantly more intense, he feels like he really can't be faulted for that. She does this to him. _Every_ time. Whatever the moment, he's always left wanting more with her. Restricting himself to gentle, chaste touches this last week and a half has slowly been killing him. Now that he knows what it's like to watch her eyes flutter shut as he fills her, what it feels like to have her body surround his, draw him in, he can't stand the forced distance.

"Oliver, we can't," she half protests, pulling back a little.

He refuses to let his lips leave her skin though. It's too intoxicating. He drags his mouth down to the underside of her jaw and his teeth nip at the sensitive skin he finds there. It's one of his many favorite places on her body. Just a scrape of his teeth there never fails to make her shudder and groan a little. And he's _hungry_ for that noise right now.

The move doesn't fail him. Her groan gives way to a whimper and she shifts her hips slightly, unconsciously seeking some kind of friction. That's even better. Something in him goddamned crows in triumph at that noise and all he can think about is the other sounds he can draw out of her.

"We really, _really_ can," he growls against her throat.

"Your leg…" she protests, even as she cranes her neck to give him more access.

"My leg's a mess, but my _hand_ is just fine," he points out, letting his right hand let go of her face to grip her upper thigh with clear intent even as his left hand tangles tighter in her blonde tresses.

" _Oh_ ," she breathes out as his nose pushes the edge of her blouse out of the way so he can suck against the skin of her collarbone. "But my side…"

He pauses at that and looks up at her, concentrating on dialing back his rather overwhelming want for her.

"If you think you aren't well enough," he ventures, pained concern clouding his voice.

" _No_ ," she corrects hurriedly. "No. I just… slow and gentle… just in case?"

"Yeah," he agrees immediately. "Of course. Tell me if it's too much."

She hums in agreement and leans down to kiss him. It's long and slow and the soft heat of her tongue against his pulls every last conscious thought out of his brain beyond _this_. _Her_.

It's with the utmost care that he braces a hand against her back as he uses his one good leg to push off on and flip them so that she's on her back with him leaning over her.

"Your leg," she protests immediately.

"Is completely out of the way," he finishes, tracing the inside line of her collar down to the vee that dips down in the middle. "So stop worrying about it. Okay? I'm fine."

"I wish you were fine," she sighs as he pops the top two buttons on her blouse and pushes the fabric to the side, watching closely as he reveals a brand new strip of creamy skin for him to run his lips along.

That he wishes he were fine, too, goes without saying. But for now, this is enough. Getting to watch her, hold her, tease her skin and bring her body to the brink, that's all he needs. The rest can wait. They have forever for that. He will make love to her a million times, if he has his way. That this time happens to be focused entirely on her doesn't bother him in the least.

"I'm just glad you're better," he murmurs into the curve of her breast, teasing the skin along the edge of her bra with his lips, but not moving the fabric out of the way.

"Oliver," she whines a little, shifting slightly and arching her back. "You're teasing."

"Absolutely," he agrees, nosing her blouse out of the way and grabbing the strap of her bra with his teeth to drag it off her shoulder. "You _did_ specify slow and gentle, didn't you?"

"But maybe not _torturously_ slow," she clarifies as he lets his scruff drag across the expanse of newly exposed skin.

"Well… maybe next time you should be more specific," he advises, smiling into her skin as she huffs adorably in protest.

She wriggles a little against the sheets, as he undoes two more buttons and her blouse slips further off her shoulder, revealing nearly an entire bra-clad breast. Her bra itself is thin, some sort of sheer material that does absolutely nothing to hide the rosy hue of her fast-tightening nipple beneath.

"I'm being more specific _now_ ," she counters, pushing her shoulders against the mattress to thrust her breasts upwards toward him.

He's not about to be rushed, though. Not after a week and a half of thinking about this, of wanting her and being unable to have her even though she was usually an arm's length away.

"Oliver," she whines again, tangling her fingers in his hair and scritching her nails against his scalp.

 _Oh_ , that's just playing dirty and she knows it. He groans in satisfaction as her fingers send little shivers down his spine. His head drops a little, his nose brushing against her peaked nipple twice before he wraps his lips around the cloth-covered bud and sucks it into his mouth.

"Ooooh _god_ ," she whimpers, her hand stilling in his hair as her breathing speeds up perceptably.

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of how responsive she is, how very sensitive she is to his every touch. There's never been another lover who has left him feeling quite so connected, quite so _whole_ just with the way she's reacted to him. It's satisfying on a level that has very little to do with sex and everything to do with how much he loves her.

In truth, he'd be happy to tease that one breast until she was absolutely on edge, clawing at him for more and aching for release, but there's so much more of her to explore and his eagerness for her is something he can't deny. He releases her breast to move to the other as he undoes the last of the buttons on her blouse. But… _damn_ that fabric is completely see-through. It was sheer enough before, but now that it's wet…

It's mesmerizing.

His hand pushes the blouse apart, letting the fabric fall to her sides, and then his hand drifts up to rub his thumb across that dampened rosy peek, so poorly covered by straining near-invisible fabric. It's intensely satisfying to watch the way her breathing speeds up more and a light flush colors her skin, to feel a groan trapped in her lungs and the bite of her fingernails into his bicep.

At the grip on his arm, he looks up at her. It sucks the breath right out of him how beautiful she is like this, how much is means to him to be lucky enough to get to see her like this.

"Kiss me?" she asks.

That's not a thing she'll ever have to ask him twice. He slides upwards, abandoning her breasts entirely to hold her face as he kisses her. He can't possibly tell her how much she means to him in words. He doesn't have that kind of vocabulary. So he pours it all into how he kisses her instead. The need to express it makes his hands shake and a lump form in his throat.

"I love you. So, _so_ much," he whispers as they finally part, eyes boring into hers with all the intensity he feels.

"I love you, too," she whispers back, stroking the side of his face, fingers scraping through his stubble. "So much that sometimes it scares me."

"It would be scary if one of us were in this alone," he tells her, nuzzling her cheek. "But we're not. And I think we've pretty much proved that together we can face anything, don't you?"

She's very quiet for a moment and for the briefest of seconds he's afraid he's said the wrong thing. He pulls back, looks her in the eye to find her gaze is one of pure awe and adoration.

"You're right," she smiles.

"I know I'm right," he grins back.

"Don't be so _smug_ about it, Captain Queen," she teases. "Now, how about you take that shirt off, because I know full well that there's nothing wrong with your abs and I would greatly enjoy some access to them."

"Yes, ma'am," he counters with raised eyebrows, leaning back and pulling his shirt off.

She's right. This is better. Her skin against his is _always_ better. That she practically _purrs_ as she runs her hands down his chest and abs doesn't hurt either.

He's lost a tremendous amount of muscle mass given their ordeal and the strict bedrest he's been on. He knows it. But it doesn't seem to bother her in the least. It's a little surprising how much that means to him. She's always been appreciative of his body, but that she _still_ appreciates it when he's nowhere near peak condition… that strikes a chord with him. It underscores precisely how much she loves _him_ … for some reason he can't possibly fathom.

They're both caught up in this, in touch and lips and sensation. In hindsight, it isn't terribly surprising that they both get wound up enough that she rocks against him and he presses right back. That is, unfortunately, a decidedly bad idea… which is something he notices an instant later when his leg clenches involuntarily and he hisses in pain.

"Oh god, Oliver! I'm so sorry," she says in a rush, scooting back.

"It's fine," he says hurriedly. "I just… forgot for a moment. I'm okay."

"Maybe we shouldn't-"

" _No_ ," he insists hurriedly, pulling her back to him. "No I'm sorry. I'm fine. That was my fault. I won't do it again. Please just… I need you. Okay? It's been so long. I just need to touch you again."

She bites her lip and looks about ten times more turned on than she had previously - which is saying something, really - and he's well aware there's no way she's going to say no to that.

"How's your side?" he asks, hand drifting down to skirt around the still-forming scar on her side, halfway between her hip and ribs.

"Tender," she admits. "But it doesn't hurt. Certainly not in comparison to how you're making me feel, anyhow."

"And how's that?" he asks heavily, tracing lines absently up and down her side as he stares at her.

"Perfect," she breathes, eyes locked with his. "Beautiful. Cherished."

" _Good_ ," he replies, voice deep and gritty. "You _are_."

He keeps his eyes entirely locked on her face as he lets his hand drift down to her lower abdomen and slip loose the clasp on her slacks. She sucks in a breath and her eyelids flutter, but she holds his gaze.

Nothing in the 'verse could keep his eyes from staying fixed on hers as his hand slides into her pants and he cups her through her underwear.

"Oh," she exhales, rocking against the press of his hand. "Yes, Oliver, that's…"

She breaks off in a sigh as his thumb roots around until he finds her clit. It's absurdly obvious when he does. She bites her lip and her eyes pinch shut as she whimpers and presses harder against his hand.

"I missed this," she breathes out. "I missed you."

He kisses her at that, hard and heated as he continues to press against her heat through her panties. His thumb circles and flicks in alternating moves that seem to always make her breath hitch and her body go rigid.

"You okay?" he murmurs against her lips a moment later, hyperconscious of her injury.

" _So_ much better than okay," she moans out.

Her underwear are sopping wet, positively drenched, and a big part of him would like nothing more than to slide further down the mattress and bury his face in her. But that's logistically problematic at the moment - he really _shouldn't_ have his leg hanging off the bed - and he seems more than happy with his hand. So he kicks it up a notch.

There's a moment of disappointed whimpering when he moves his hand, but that's gone the second he slides it inside her underwear and parts her slick heat to slide his fingers through it.

"Oh… _god_ ," she chokes out.

"That good?" he asks, with a bit of a self-satisfied grin.

"You have no idea," she manages, biting her lip as she looks at him and rolls her hips into his hand.

"Show me," he tells her, sliding two fingers into her as his thumb presses firmly against her clit.

"Oh, oh god, _Oliver_."

It's like his name is too much for her. She breaks on it as she sets a somewhat frantic pace against the press of his hand.

She's so damned slick, so damned primed for him that it pretty much blows his mind. He can't take her like he wants right now, but he can bring her to a quaking mess of bliss and raw nerves and _god damned_ if that isn't the next best thing.

His fingers slide easily into her, press forward until he finds that elusive place that makes a whine form high in her throat and her eyes roll up.

"Like that," he says, moving his hand a little faster, pressing a little firmer. "Come on, Felicity. Let go, honey."

She breaks beautifully, all arched back and wetted bra with a flushed chest and desperate bids for air as she chokes on his name and her feet scramble for purchase against the mattress. If he makes love to her every day for the rest of his life, this will still be seared into his brain.

" _God_ , I love you," he whispers, kissing her temple. "So damned much."

His fingers have stilled within her, but he can still feel her body pulsing around them and her gaze is hazy and blissed out when she looks at him. After a moment, he lets his fingers pull out of her and glide through her slickness again. She shudders. It's too much. He knows it and he stills his hand and presses his forehead against hers, in spite of the fact that he'd like nothing more than to dive into her again, bring her back to that brink and watch her fall over it again and again under the influence of his hand.

"I love you, too," she manages after a moment of schooling her breathing. "More than I ever thought I could. I just… _god_ I wish I could touch you."

"A few weeks," he tells her, pressing a soft kiss against her lips before pressing their foreheads together.

"At least we'll have _lots_ of lost time to make up for then," she says.

He can _hear_ the grin in her voice as she says it and something short-circuits in his brain at that. The idea of the two of them tucked away in their room on Verdant, just exploring each other's bodies for days on end. He wants that as much as he's ever wanted anything.

"Looking forward to it," he promises.

He's never meant anything more.


	32. Chapter 32

Simon can prescribe all the bedrest and pain killers he wants, for Oliver's money there's nothing in the 'verse as therapeutic as Felicity curled around him in her sleep. The heat of her body, the brush of her skin against his and the puffs of breath that skim his chest… they all help bring about a sense of peace and calm he's never managed to find anywhere else.

It's honestly the only thing that's made this much bedrest anywhere near bearable.

She mumbles something in her sleep about code refactoring and lemurs and he has to chuckle because _what_? His heart feels like it expands twice over as she huffs in her sleep and cuddles closer, rubbing her cheek against his chest and draping an arm across his waist.

He doesn't want to wake her. Not really. But he knows well by now that she sleeps far more soundly than him. So, he lets his fingers trace up and down her bare back, navigating the line of her spine with soft touches that make her sigh contentedly even as she dreams on.

 _This_ is what's been missing from his life before. And, for the life of him, he can't figure out what made him fight against it for so long. Because it's the best part of his life and he's pretty sure it always will be.

The outside world edges in, though, when a knock raps loudly on the door. Still… Felicity sleeps on.

"Hold on a minute," he calls out before looking back down toward the naked blonde sleeping peacefully against him.

He really does hate to wake her.

"Hey… Felicity, someone's at the door," he says, rubbing a circle between her shoulder blades.

"Mfrphl," she grumbles unintelligibly.

He laughs at that and shakes his head, but even the movement of his chest under her cheek doesn't wake her.

"Honey, you're naked and I can't get up and there's someone at the door," he tells her, letting his hand slide down to tap the curve of her hip.

"Not now," she grumbles turning away from him with her eyes still shut. "Too tired for sex. Later."

His eyebrows shoot up at that. _How_ exactly she'd come to the conclusion he was angling for sex at the moment, he has no idea, but he's suddenly intensely interested in her dream. However, the more interesting thing might actually be that she'd _turned him down_. That… speaks volumes about her exhaustion level.

"Gonna need a moment," Oliver shouts out toward the door.

"I ain't in a particular rush," Mal's distinctive voice calls back.

Oliver sighs, sitting up and looking to the side of the bed where the dreaded wheelchair Thea insisted he keep on hand sits looking like a blessing and a curse all at once. He can't stand that thing, but… well, he can't help admitting its usefulness.

Especially now.

He tugs on yesterday's clothes, which had been haphazardly tossed to the side of the bed, and reaches to pull the wheelchair closer until it's flush against the mattress before he locks the wheels and scoots himself carefully into the seat. He hates this. Something about the chair makes him feel weaker. Or, if he's being honest, it brings into sharp relief precisely how injured he is. That sort of thing is easier to ignore when he's in bed. It's a _bed_. He'd be there on a daily basis regardless of being injured. But the chair… it sours his mood considerably.

He's so _done_ with this recovery thing.

The one upside to the chair is that it's something he's allowed to do that exercises his arms. And it _is_ a surprising amount of exercise. It's no salmon ladder, but it's _something_ , he thinks as he wheels himself over to the door.

It takes a bit of maneuvering to pull the door open, not just because the chair is sort of in the way, but also because he's hyper-aware that there's a naked Felicity in the bed behind him. Covered by a blanket, yes, but _still_.

He manages, though. And soon enough he's looking up at Mal.

That will never not be strange. Looking _up_ at everyone.

"Got a moment to have a word?" Mal asks.

"Yeah. In the hall, though," Oliver says, wheeling himself out as Mal steps out of the way. "Felicity's still asleep."

"She had a hell of day yesterday," Mal acknowledges. "Can't say as I'd be inclined to be takin' much of a walk in the snow after gettin' impaled and spendin' a few weeks stranded on that frozen moon myself, but it takes all kinds, I s'pose. I ain't judgin'."

"I think she pushed herself a bit," Oliver agrees, leaving off that he'd most definitely contributed to that. "She hasn't done much but sit around and heal for a while now. I think it was starting to make her go a bit stir-crazy."

He knows being closed in like that is driving him a bit nuts, anyhow.

"Strollin' around outside's makin' a lot more sense when you put it like that," Mal nods.

"Yeah," Oliver says. "So, what's going on, Mal?"

"We got us a problem," Mal tells him, grimacing as he speaks.

Oliver blinks up at him for a moment before responding.

"A _new_ one?"

"Of a sort," Mal hedges.

Oliver sighs and rubs at his forehead. He's not awake enough for this yet, he decides.

"Go on," he says anyhow.

"It's River an' Simon," Mal says, glancing both directions down the hall before elaborating. "Anatoly had a chat with the doc last night, went an' put two and two together an' came up with four. Don't rightly know what he aims to do about it, but no doubt he knows who they are."

Oliver rubs his chin through his scruff as he thinks that through. Because Mal's right - it _is_ a problem - but it might not be quite as bad as he thinks. He doesn't know for sure what Anatoly will do with that information, but he's also pretty sure that the Bratva leader won't act rashly.

"I'll talk to him," Oliver assures him.

"That gonna do any good?" Mal asks, raising an eyebrow. "'Cause, I gotta tell you, the doc's about ready to take his sister an' run."

"That's a _bad_ idea," Oliver cautions.

"Funny enough, that's what River said," Mal informs him. "It's a mite scary when she's the voice of reason."

Frankly, there's no arguing that point.

"I'll talk to him this morning," Oliver promises. "Keep Simon calmed down, but let Digg, Sara and Roy know to keep an extra eye out just in case Anatoly's not the only one to have figured out who they are."

"Full disclosure?" Mal asks, obviously not expecting a response. "Verdant's your ship and I respect you're her captain. But we ain't on Verdant and Simon an' River are part of my crew. That makes 'em my responsibility. I appreciate the aid more than words can say, but push comes to shove and I protect my people. We understood?"

Oliver's stock-still at that, aside from mindlessly rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. He couldn't have expected any other attitude from Mal. Hell, he wouldn't have had a different outlook himself if it were his crew. But the implications chill him to the core.

"You don't want a fight with the Bratva," Oliver warns him.

"No," Mal replies gravely. "I surely do not."

He will, though. Oliver has no doubt of that. If Anatoly decides the payday on the Tams is too rich to ignore, Mal and his crew will start an all out war with the Russian mob. And he's not entirely sure his crew wouldn't immediately fall in line with them.

"I will talk to Anatoly this morning," Oliver repeats slowly. "Until then… maybe it's best Simon and River stay in their room."

"That was my notion," Mal nods.

"Anything else?" Oliver asks, rather desperately hoping he'll say no.

"Got a bit of good news too, actually," Mal says.

"Oh?" Oliver asks in surprise.

"Kaylee says the Bratva's got a spare core just lyin' about their storage room," Mal informs him. "Ain't got an idea on how to get 'em to give it to us, seein' as I think they'd take unkindly to us relieving them of it on our own, but maybe that's another thing you can have a talk with Anatoly about."

"Definitely," Oliver agrees.

It's strange how much that doesn't sit well with him. Their ship is overcrowded at best and he knows Mal is chafing for his own ship back, even if he has been mostly very understanding about the whole situation, but their crews have blended together surprisingly seamlessly. The idea of not finding Kaylee and Felicity talking tech that's way beyond him in the dining hall or Sara sassing Jayne in the gym or Digg and Zoe sparring while Wash has some kind of running commentary… it makes him a little sad. He's not quite sure when that happened.

"Mal?" Oliver calls as the other captain moves to turn away.

Mal turns back, looks at Oliver expectantly.

"You're their captain, but they aren't just your responsibility and it's not just your crew who cares about them," Oliver offers up. "None of us are going to let anything happen to River or Simon. I promise you that."

It's not just support for Simon and River that Oliver's offering. It's a statement that his crew is their crew, too. They're a family unto themselves, surely, but they're linked now. And Verdant's crew will stand up for Serenity's whenever they might find themselves in need.

The smile Mal offers back in response is a small one, but it reaches his eyes. And, captain-to-captain, Oliver knows they're on the same page.

"Much obliged," Mal says with a nod.

Oliver nods back. It feels like the only response that's needed.

* * *

"Morning," Felicity greets on a yawn as she stretches out against the mattress when he rolls out of their bathroom half an hour later.

Honestly, it takes him a moment to echo her greeting back. He's not even sorry for being distracted by her when she does something like that. He's only human, after all and the long line of her slim body arching against the mattress is more than enough to make all of the thoughts in his head fizzle out of existence.

"Oliver," she laughs, turning on her side to face him which is absolutely no less distracting but at least he's halfway ready for it this time. "I _just_ woke up. Why are you looking at me like I'm all dressed up for a gala or something."

"If you don't think that you lying naked in our bed is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, I haven't been doing a good enough job at this boyfriend thing," he tells her immediately. "You always take my breath away."

She flushes, pink-tinged cheeks only making him more enraptured by her, and she bites her lips together but she doesn't look away. Instead, her eyes darken a shade and a full-on mischievous look that he _loves_ takes over.

"Keep saying things like that and I just might drag you back into this bed and find more creative ways to get around Simon's medical advice," she threatens in what has to be the most enticing ultimatum he's ever heard.

The groan that gets caught in his throat is one of utter frustration. He's so done with this recovery thing. _So. Done_.

"You're gonna kill me," he says, mostly to himself.

"Mmm… only metaphorically," she says, grinning wider and moving to stand up and stride over to him.

She leans down, bracing a hand on the arm of his chair for support as she places a kiss on the edge of his mouth. Apparently she's all teasing today. Possibly because they'd finally gotten to the point where he could touch her again, he's not sure. But, whatever the reason, he'd be lying if he said he didn't absolutely love it.

The soft brush of her lips against the corner of his mouth and the way she's leaning over him, completely nude with her breasts just _right there_ , is absolutely too much for him. He really wishes he could grab her hips and drag her onto his lap, but that's an incredibly terrible idea thanks to his leg.

Still.

He can kiss her.

Like _really_ kiss her. There's absolutely nothing wrong with his mouth.

One of his hands does rest low on her hip, fingers spreading out across her ass because _god damn_ he can't help himself, and his other hand goes to her face, tilts her head to the side slightly and feels the rumble of her laughter skirt across his lips as he pulls her down slightly to press his mouth to hers in a hard, hot open-mouthed kiss that's more than a little charged.

His fingers dig in, kneading her ass and she moans into his mouth and _fuck_ why does he have things he has to do this morning? He does though. There's no choice in that. No matter how blissfully distracting she is.

"Take me back to bed, Oliver," she suggests, trailing a hand down his chest.

He silently curses the whole 'verse in this moment because he _can't_.

"Can we… hold that thought for later?" he asks, hating the words even as he's saying them.

She backs off slightly and looks at him in surprise before her shoulders sag a little and her teasing nature fades.

"You have something you have to do this morning," she realizes with a sigh. "That's why you're wearing pants."

He _wants_ to say something to that, but words sort of fail him for the moment before she starts to self-correct.

"Not that you don't usually wear pants," she says quickly. "You do. Just lately not _pants_ pants. That's misleading. Of course they're pants. I just mean that they're usually sweatpants since you got hurt. Those are valid pants. But not like these, which are actual pants. Like slacks. You can stop me when I do this, you know?"

"Why would I do that?" he asks with a laugh. "I love seeing how your head works."

The sheer delight that colors her face at that makes him realize he needs to say that to her more. _All_ the time. She needs to hear that, to know how much he adores the parts of her that have nothing at all to do with how beautiful she looks but have everything to do with how beautiful she _is_.

"You're wrong, you know," she tells him, stepping back toward the dresser to pull out some clothes. "You're pretty great at this boyfriend thing."

He stays quiet a moment, watching as she dresses. There's an intense gratefulness that washes through him. For this. For her. For the fact that he _finally_ has managed to get his act together. For the fact that he wasn't too late.

"You make it easy," he tells her.

She smiles back as she tugs her hair out from underneath the collar of the shirt she's put on.

"So… what are we doing this morning?" she asks, grabbing a hairbrush and slowly starting to unsnarl the tangles that have worked their way into her hair overnight.

"Well… _I_ am going to go meet with Anatoly," he tells her. "Apparently he's figured out who Simon and River are. I need to make it clear that cashing in on them is unacceptable."

She pauses at that, her eyes meeting his nervously in the mirror.

"It's fine," he reassures her quickly. "Or… it will be fine, anyhow. Don't worry about it. I can handle Anatoly."

"Good," she says cautiously after a moment. "What do you need me to do?"

There's something reassuring about the way she easily slips back into teammate mode. She's his lover, his best friend, his technical expert, his crew member, his _partner_. She's everything at once.

"Touch base with Kaylee," he tells her. "I want the ship done. Soon. See if there's anything we can do to speed things along."

"Sure," she agrees easily. "They were making good progress when she stopped by the day before yesterday. I don't think it will be much longer. They've done most of the welding anyhow."

"Good," Oliver replies. "The sooner we get out of here the better."

"You need to talk to Anatoly about Alina, too," Felicity points out.

"I know," he sighs. "That's… one crisis at a time, okay? I'll work it in if I can, but I'm already demanding an awful lot from someone who keeps helping us out."

"We have to get her out of here," Felicity reminds him. "We promised her."

"We will," he agrees. "I won't leave her behind. But we need to be careful how we approach this or it could all blow up in our faces."

"How new and different for us," she exclaims, turning back toward him with a challenge in her eyes.

"Never let it be said that our lives are boring," he tells her.

"True enough," she agrees.

"Listen, I've got to go meet Anatoly in…" he pauses to check his watch, "five minutes. Take Digg or Sara with you when you go to see Kaylee and walk back with them, okay? I trust Anatoly's men less every day we're here. And I trust their wives even less than the men."

"Sure," she agrees, grabbing his hand and leaning down to kiss him again.

It's far more chaste than earlier. Far briefer, too. But somehow no less satisfying.

"Love you," she tells him, squeezing his hand before she lets go and turns to head toward the bathroom. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Love you, too," he echoes back, revelling in how freely those words come these days.

Probably it would have been smarter to ask for Felicity's help with the door to their room, but Oliver's more prideful than smart sometimes and he has quickly found that he hates asking for help doing everyday things. He manages. And, to her credit, she lets him. He's grateful for that. She knows him well enough to know there's some battles he needs to fight on his own.

Their wing of Anatoly's manor has a lot of rooms. Strangely, in some ways, it reminds him of home. The long, empty, lavishly-decorated corridors and seemingly endless rooms hold a sense of familiarity for him that evoke an odd mixture of comfort and uneasiness in him. He wonders if Thea feels it, too. He's sure none of the others do.

Amongst the many rooms of their wing sits an otherwise unused study, just a few doors down from his room. That's where he's arranged to meet Anatoly. It affords them a sense of privacy without intruding on the small amount of personal space he shares with Felicity. It also serves to make things feel more official.

In theory, Oliver should beat Anatoly there. He's early intentionally. But when he enters the room, Anatoly is already sitting behind the large desk doing something on a tablet.

Of course he is.

"Come in, Oliver," Anatoly calls out, standing up and abandoning the display screen. "It is good to see you moving about, my friend."

"As much as I hate the chair, I'm glad to be out of bed," Oliver admits as Anatoly walks up and clasps his hand in solidarity before moving to shut the door.

"There is much to discuss," Anatoly tells him. "Your message to meet was excellent timing. There is a great deal going on."

"With the Bratva or with us?" Oliver asks.

"Eh… the answer to this is, I think, _yes_ ," Anatoly tells him, shrugging. "This is intertwined, no? First, though, how is your leg?"

"Steadily improving," Oliver tells him. "But you already knew that."

"Is good to hear it from you," Anatoly tells him. "Doctors… they do not know everything."

"You know…" Oliver says, mulling over his words carefully. "I feel like maybe I didn't stress enough to you how much I trust my crew, how much they mean to me. I think maybe that was an oversight on my part."

Anatoly pauses at that, presses his fingertips together and runs his tongue along his teeth.

"This is understandable," he deems finally after a moment. "A crew, they are like a family, yes? Almost like a _brotherhood_."

"Of course, you understand," Oliver smiles tightly. "I'm their captain. Their _leader_. It's my job to look out for them. Protect the family."

"This is something I understand," Anatoly agrees. "Others, though… they may not share our understanding."

A chill runs down Oliver's spine like ice water at this. He knows Anatoly more than well enough to figure out precisely what he's saying.

"Who else knows?" he grits out after a moment.

"There was an order I issued last night to the captains," Anatoly tells him. "That the Tams, they are off limits. There is no one permitted to collect on their bounty."

Oliver feels like the air was entirely sucked out of the room at that. His ears buzz and his eyes sting and _oh my god_ how is it that suddenly every single person on this planet is a threat to his people?

"Everyone?" Oliver asks in disbelief. " _Everyone_ knows who they are? Why the hell would you do that? Why would you tell them?"

"This is bigger than your fugitives, Oliver," Anatoly tells him gravely as Oliver feels the ire rise up inside him.

"This is _my crew_ ," he hisses, wishing like anything that he were in peak physical condition. "This is my _family_. We came here for help and you just signed their death warrants."

"That is not my intention," Anatoly counters. "You will hear me out, yes?"

"Get talking," Oliver growls angrily.

"This is difficult time in Bratva," Anatoly reminds him. "There is someone or more likely a group of someones who are trying to wrest power from me, defy my leadership. You know this."

"What does that have to do with the Tams?" Oliver demands.

"These persons… they will not obey my orders," Anatoly points out. "Not with the blood money offered up by the Alliance."

"You're trying to use the Tams to root out whoever is betraying you?" Oliver asks in disbelief.

"This solution you offered me, Oliver. It is very good," Anatoly tells him. "I have a meeting for the captains tonight. They will come because you will be there. They are curious about you, yes? They will all come. And while they are there, your people will check their communication logs in their homes for mentions of the Tams. Your woman, she is excellent with computers. I remember this. We will together discover the traitors. I will eliminate them for their betrayal of the brotherhood and your crew will disappear… _including_ the Tams."

The sense of panic and anger hasn't really died down, even though he can see that Anatoly's plan is not a terrible one - for Anatoly anyhow. And it isn't necessarily a death sentence for the Tams or the rest of his crew. But it is dangerous and there's a whole lot about it that he hates.

"You should have come to me," Oliver insists. "You want to do this to my people? Put them in this position? You come to _me_ first."

"You are their captain and I respect this, Oliver," Anatoly tells him. "But this is _my_ planet and you are a captain in _my_ brotherhood. Do not forget this."

He hates that there is no arguing this point, but Anatoly is right. They're cornered and there is no option but Anatoly's plan at this point.

"Your ship will be ready by morning," Anatoly tells him. "You and your people do this for me and you are free to leave with my favor. I will owe you, Oliver. Do not take this lightly."

Oliver's jaw ticks in frustration. Being seen as weak by the other captains is a risk. His people breaking into the other captains' homes is a risk. The Tams being exposed is a risk. His ship being worked on by the very people they're trying to ensnare is a risk. All he sees are risks everywhere he looks.

"I'll talk to my people," Oliver decides aloud.

"Oliver… this is not a decision for committee," Anatoly tells him. "This is a captain's call."

"Don't tell me how to run my crew," Oliver snaps back. "If we do this, I want two things from you."

"This is your favor already?" Anatoly asks in surprise, sitting back in his chair.

"No," Oliver tells him. "This is in addition to that."

"You have my attention," Anatoly tells him, making a rolling motion with his hand.

"You have an enhanced graviton accelerator core," Oliver tells him. "We need it."

"Spare parts?" Anatoly asks surprised. "This I can do. What is the other thing?"

"Alina," Oliver tells him.

Anatoly groans and looks skyward.

"You and _this woman_ , Oliver," he shakes his head. "Always the problem of you and Alina. You have beautiful fiance. Why do you need Alina? She is nothing."

"She's nothing _here_ ," Oliver points out. "I don't want her for myself. That's not me anymore, but she doesn't deserve to live like this. She deserves better than Sasha and the wives making her life miserable and pointless. She's coming with us and you will stop anyone from coming after her. I want your word on that."

"This is difficult thing you ask," Anatoly tells him. "Sasha is a very good interrogator. He is useful to me. He is cold toward Alina, yes, but he is the type of man who needs a woman at home."

"Well, if this all goes as you plan, he'll probably have a couple of widows to choose from for a new wife," Oliver points out. "Almost certainly someone far happier to be married to him and who _hasn't_ cheated on him."

Anatoly sighs.

"Fine," he agrees eventually. "I will do this for you. Provided you and your crew does what I need."

Oliver pushes backwards in his chair, wheeling toward the door.

"We'll let you know," he says.

One thing's for sure. It's going to be a hell of a conversation.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N - I'm sorry to say that I head back to work tomorrow after a few months off. Updates will slow down considerably (expect once a week). Thank you to those still reading and especially those who take the time to leave a review!

* * *

"I'm gonna need you to repeat that because there ain't no way I heard that right."

In hindsight, Oliver _really_ should have talked to Mal alone about this first. It's a little late for that now, though.

"You did," Oliver counters with a heavy look in the other captain's direction.

The oversized sitting room that they've more or less used as a communal gathering place for nearly the last two weeks explodes in a cacophony of noise. Some voices are panicked, some angry, a few defensive, but all of them are loud and it takes Sara putting her fingers to her lips and whistling loud and shrilly before it dies down at all.

"Simon, I'm sorry," Oliver starts off as soon as the room has calmed enough for a single voice to be heard. "I didn't think he'd do this. It didn't even occur to me. But we're not going to hang you two out to dry."

"It's not dry," River's voice ventures, her tone distant and oddly detached in that way she sometimes has. "It's wet. Wet like blood from a fresh wound... deep, cutting to the bone. It seeps in the cracks, dark as night and tugging at the soul like a reaper collecting his bounty."

"Ummm…" Felicity says, looking around the room uncomfortably as everyone else just stares at River with varying degrees of wariness.

A beat later, River looks up at Oliver and cocks her head to the side. It almost seems like she's seeing him, but he's not sure about that. Her awareness of the real world when she gets like this is difficult to gauge.

"We need a scythe," she informs him plainly.

"Yeah, that ain't makin' me more comfortable," Zoe notes, crossing her arms.

"River's crazier than a bag of cats dosed with vertigo," Jayne huffs, looking significantly less bothered than most of Serenity's crew by recent developments.

"Might be," Mal agrees. "But she also ain't often wrong."

"We can handle this," Oliver tells them, effecting the kind of certainty that becomes necessary as a captain, even if you don't quite believe what you're saying. "As much as I hate being backed into a corner, Anatoly's plan isn't actually a bad one."

"It's not a good one either," Simon counters, looking as stiff as Oliver has ever seen him. "This is my sister's _life_ we're talking about. Her freedom. If it was your sister and you knew someone was going to twist who she was until she became a weapon, a killer you didn't even recognize, what would you do?"

He can't help the way his eyes drift to Thea at that. He'd do anything for her. Anything at all. There's not even a question. There never has been. From the first time his mother had settled her in his arms and her little fingers had reached out for his face, a piece of him has belonged to her.

Part of him wonders if she knows that. He doubts it. The way she looks at him, like she's trying to read his unspoken thoughts, it speaks volumes. She knows he loves her. She knows he'd protect her. But she probably has no idea precisely how far he'd go - how far he _has_ gone - just to keep her safe.

But this isn't about him. Not really. It's about Simon.

"There are fifteen people in this room, Simon," Oliver points out to him. "And no one here is going to do anything to put you or your sister in further danger."

"We're already in danger enough," Simon huffs frustratedly. "We're _bait_. And I'm not much a fan of sitting around to see who bites."

"Run now and we're just moving bait," Digg points out. "And on top of that, Anatoly's not going to cover our asses if we bail. He can't. It would expose what did."

Digg is unquestionably right. If they ran… well, he'd be betraying the Pakhan wouldn't he? Leaving Anatoly to root out the men betraying him on his own would unquestionably put him in that group as well. The whole of the Bratva would be after them. And he's not sure his own fate would be any better than River's.

"We don't have a workin' ship," Kaylee points out. "She's close, but she ain't there yet. An' even if she was, I ain't sure we could sneak her outta the Bratva repair bay without someone noticin'."

"There's no need for everyone to run," Simon says, looking at Kaylee uncomfortably. "All River and I need is a small craft. One of the escape pods should be sufficient."

That's when the shouting starts again. It's all protests now, though, and as much as it's not productive in the least, it still makes Oliver feel pretty proud. This is his crew. This is his family. And no one gets left behind. The only one who might be unclear on that is Simon.

Well… and maybe Jayne. He looks decidedly bored and seems to be the _only_ one not protesting hotly at the moment.

" _Hey_ ," Oliver barks loudly, effectively shutting everyone up. "That's _enough_. We need to come to some kind of agreement and we don't have a lot of time."

"We're _not_ abandoning you, Simon Tam," Felicity announces, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised in challenge. "So you can just stop that line of thinking because it leads to a very dead end. Metaphorically. No one's actually dying. That was a… questionable word choice. My bad."

Oliver blinks at her incredulously before looking back at the rest of the group.

"I don't want anyone getting themselves hurt because of us and I don't want to be anywhere near mobsters who know who River and I are," Simon points out.

"Okay, so what if we compromise?" Oliver asks.

"How are we doing that?" Wash asks, looking back and forth like he's searching for someone to nod in agreement. "The compromise between running away and diving headfirst into a mob war would be…"

"Standing still," Oliver finishes. "For them, anyhow."

"Keep talkin'," Mal prompts.

"We follow Anatoly's plan," Oliver starts. "I'll go to the captain's meeting as a distraction while Sara, Digg, Roy, Mal, Zoe and Jayne break into the other captains' houses to look for evidence of who the traitors are. While that's going on, Simon, River, Felicity, Thea, Inara, Wash, the shepherd and Kaylee head to Verdant's escape pods where they can get away quickly if things go badly."

"There are a whole ' _verse_ of problems with that plan," Felicity counters immediately, looking exactly as annoyed with him as he might have realized she would be had he stopped to think everything through.

"I'm trying to mitigate risk, Felicity," he tells her.

"First of all, we're not running without you. If you think there's a universe where I'd leave you behind, you're crazy," Felicity starts out, ticking off points on her fingers as she speaks. "Secondly, even if _anyone_ on the crew would be willing to ditch half of the team - and, _newflash_ , they wouldn't be - the ship isn't ready and you and I _both_ know those pods aren't going to get us far enough fast enough to do any good. Thirdly, if you think that _Jayne_ is getting into encrypted communication records without a little technical assistance, I think you've sorely overestimated some of your crew's expertise in key areas."

He'd anticipated her first two points. At least he had as soon as he'd realized that she was objecting at all. But that last one throws him.

"You aren't breaking into a Bratva captain's house, Felicity," he tells her, suddenly incredibly tense at the notion.

"Not by myself," she agrees. "But they're going to need me and Kaylee or they'll never make it into the systems."

Running is starting to look better, really. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if she were caught trespassing in a Bratva captain's home and riffling through his computers.

"Hidin' on the ship might not be the best option anyhow," Zoe offers up. "If they already got word out and the Alliance shows, it'll be the first place they look."

"There is another option," Inara ventures, raising her eyebrows delicately in Oliver's direction. "We aren't without allies here, even discounting Anatoly."

"You want to stash Simon and River with _Alina_?" Oliver asks, following her train of thought.

"Her husband will be at the captains' meeting," Sara points out. "And she has at least as big an interest in this working as we do. Plus, if you're the Alliance… or even most of the Bratva, do you really look for Simon and River with her? It's a good idea, Ollie."

"So Felicity goes with Sara, Digg and Roy to half the captain's houses an' Kaylee goes with me, Zoe and Jayne to the other half?" Mal asks. "The rest shack up with Oliver's ex?"

This is possibly the best version of the plan they've come up with yet. But that doesn't make Oliver like it.

"It's the least dangerous option, Oliver," Digg says, shaking his head. "She's not going in there alone. We've got her back. You know that."

He does. He _does_. Digg is one of the most reliable people he's ever met and there's no doubt he loves Felicity like his own family. But still. It's _Felicity_.

"I just… need to think," Oliver sighs, rubbing at his eyes hard enough that his fingertips turn white.

"Everybody else agree this is the best plan?" Mal pipes up. "Simon?"

They all give some indication grudging agreement, though no one sounds thrilled about it. Everyone but Oliver. He just can't. He's reworking it all in his head. Going back over the slim options they have. Because how can a plan that puts Felicity doing very dangerous fieldwork possibly be the safest course of action? He _knows_ these men. He knows exactly what they're capable of. He doesn't want Felicity on their radar at all, much less making a move that could potentially put her directly in their crosshairs.

"Give us a sec, guys? Don't… just don't go anywhere."

It's Felicity's voice followed by the familiar heat of her hand settling on his shoulder. But her fingers don't linger there long. Her hands move to the wheels of his chair and go to unlock the brakes.

"You and I are having a quick chat outside, okay?"

It's less of a question than she makes it sound, but at least she says it lowly and it serves as a kind of warning before she starts pushing his chair into the hall. He hates being pushed around in the wheelchair nearly as much as he hates using it in the first place. But this is Felicity and he'll make exceptions for her.

They stop just a few feet from the room, but his eyes stay shut right up until her hands rest on top of his, pulling them gently away from his face. He heaves a great sigh as she comes into view.

"It's not your fault, you know," she tells him, not letting go of either of his hands.

"I should have seen it," he counters. "I should have known."

"Give yourself a break, Oliver," she tells him, crouching in front of him so they're at eye level. "You're not a mind-reader and it's not like we had any choices in coming here anyways. Anatoly was always going to pull this."

He wants to believe her. Part of him does immediately. He knows Anatoly well enough to know that if this was his plan from the beginning, there had been no way to stop him. But he can't help feeling guilty that he didn't anticipate this.

"I don't want you in the captains' houses," he grumbles instead of arguing his own guilt.

"I know," she tells him, threading her fingers through his and resting their joined hands on his knees. "I don't really want to be there either. But this is important. This is how we get Alina free. This is how we get Serenity up and running again. _And_ we can clear out some bad apples from the Bratva so we at least know who our allies are. We have to do this. _I_ have to do this."

He's nodding before he realizes it. She's right. He _hates_ it, but that doesn't make it less true. How the hell he's going to make it through the captains' meeting knowing what she's doing while he's just sitting there, he has no idea. He's going to lose his damned mind.

"Okay," Oliver agrees. "But I want you armed."

"Of course," she says immediately.

"Two guns," he clarifies gruffly, holding onto her hands a little tighter. "And, Felicity? Don't wait for anyone to draw a weapon before you shoot them. Do you understand?"

"I will do whatever I have to to protect myself," she assures him. "I understand how dangerous this is, Oliver. I'm not taking it lightly."

He stares at her clear blue eyes for a moment, soaking in the lightness and joy she always seems to emanate, no matter how bad their situation gets. The urge to get her as far away from the Bratva as possible is near overwhelming. She doesn't belong here, where it's all power games played out in the shadows and underhanded manipulations. He's starting to realize that maybe _he_ really doesn't belong here either.

"I'm going to be on the comms," he decides aloud.

"And how does that work?" she challenges. "You're going to be distracted the entire meeting if you do that."

"I can multitask," he counters.

"Oliver…" she says, voice trailing off and her tone warning.

"I can!" he protests. "We're always on the comms when we're undercover, right? We do it on missions all the time."

"That's different," she says after a long beat of silence.

"Why?" he asks immediately.

She fidgets. Her teeth tug at her lip and she stares at their hands. It takes him a moment to realize she's doing that to avoid looking him in the eyes while she searches for the right words. And it's that, more than anything, that tells him exactly why she thinks it's different.

"Because I can't walk," he realizes aloud.

Her gaze snaps back up to meet his at his words and the wariness living in those beautiful blue eyes tells him he's entirely right.

"Because even if something goes wrong, I'm stuck in this chair," he elaborates. "I can't save you. Not this time."

And, _oh wow_ does _that_ add a new level of terror to this whole thing.

"Even if things _do_ go wrong," she tells him carefully, skimming her hands gently up and down his thighs, "I'll have John and Sara and Roy with me. I'll have _two_ guns that you taught me how to use. And you'll be keeping the captains busy. You're already my backup, Oliver. It's just not with a bow this time."

"I don't like being stuck in a chair while you're out there in danger," he huffs.

"Trust me," she huffs a wry laugh, "you get used to it."

Being stuck in a wheelchair absent his usual abilities isn't quite the same as her sitting back on Verdant running the comms and mastering the computers, but it's close enough that he can concede her point.

" _You_ listen on the comms," he points out.

She rolls her eyes and smiles lopsidedly at him. It's adorable. _God_ , he's such a sap for her sometimes. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

" _Fine_ ," she gives in, squeezing his legs a little with her hands as she speaks and _wow_ is that distracting in the best way possible. "Listen in on the comms if you want to."

"I intend to," he reiterates, skimming his hands up her forearms.

Her skin prickles under his touch, little ripples of goosebumps in the wake of his calloused fingertips and her eyes flutter shut. The way he affects her, the way affecting her means so much to _him_ … it's something that he still can't quite believe he's allowed to have, something he gets to keep. And maybe that's the part in all of this that scares him the most. Part of him is half-expecting the floor to drop out from beneath them and rip everything away from him.

He's not sure how he'd deal with that. He's not sure he _could_.

"So… we have a plan, then?" she asks after a moment, licking her lips as her eyes drift open again.

"Yeah," he agrees. "We have a plan."

He just hopes everything goes the way they need it to. But he's not exactly holding his breath.

* * *

The last time Oliver had been in this room, he'd just gutted a man.

Literally, not figuratively.

His work for Anatoly had often been… messy. _Everything_ about his life at that point had been messy, now that he thinks about it. Being here now, maybe it should make him feel uneasy. And to some degree it does, but more than that it makes him marvel at the differences in himself. The man he is now bears little resemblance to the man he was then. That realization… it makes him feel lighter, somehow. _Proud_ of himself.

It's strange, after so many years of guilt and regret making its home inside him, hollowing him out and leaving nothing but dark spaces for the demons of doubt and self-blame to hide. But he savors this now, the solid foundation of growth that boosts him up and leaves him with traces of hope for himself.

He'll need that by the end of this meeting. He's sure of it.

" _Relax_ , Oliver," Anatoly chastises. "This is hardly your first meeting. It will be fine."

"It's not me I'm worried about," he grumbles from his usual seat next to Anatoly's elaborate one at the head of the table.

" _We're fine, Oliver_ ," comes a voice in his ear. " _Chill_."

Sara. He can practically hear her rolling her eyes at him.

" _Yeah, that's a thing Oliver does,"_ Digg snorts.

Oliver's lips thin in response, but he resists replying to his crew. He's supposed to focused on Anatoly right now, after all.

"All will be well," Anatoly reassures him as he stashes Oliver's wheelchair in a nearby closet. "Is a solid plan, Oliver. Have faith in your people. Something tells me they have been through much worse."

"I _do_ have faith in them," Oliver counters, glad the team can hear him.

His patience is thin with Anatoly right now and it shows. That's something he's going to have to let go of immediately, though, because the other captains will be here shortly and any animosity between them would be a very obvious crack that the others would definitely seek to exploit.

"I'm not used to not being in the middle of it," Oliver allows. "It makes me uneasy that I can't have their backs."

It's not an apology - not by a long-shot - but it's the closest thing he's willing to give at the moment. To his credit, Anatoly doesn't seem to expect more. The mob boss hums, pursing his lips as he moves back to the absurdly huge wooden table and takes a seat at its head. For all that Anatoly is not a large man, there is no doubt he is in charge when he's in his element. He emotes a regal sort of confidence that in some ways remind Oliver of his father.

"We call Bratva family," Anatoly notes, stroking his chin. "And it is. It is… large extended family with many cousins. The whole is more important than any part. I cut the sick limbs off the family tree, protect her roots. But, you, Oliver… you would never do this. Your crew is family, too. But different kind. You are family in one house. For you, every person is the same as the whole. This is why you cannot sit back and smile at me while they work. You care too much, Oliver. You always have."

"Maybe that's what keeps my tree from needing _pruning_ ," Oliver replies, voice tight with restraint as he bites back words he'd rather be saying.

"Is possible!" Anatoly laughs in that oddly good-natured way he has that completely contradicts the realities of his life. "But this is not talk for now."

" _Glad one of 'em seems to remember that_ ," Mal grumbles in his ear.

Anatoly grabs a pair of glasses and a bottle of vodka from the middle of the table and pours them some as he settles back in his chair. It's a much smaller pour than his typical glass and Oliver realizes, as the mobster loosens his collar, that everything he's doing is engineered to make it look like they've been sitting there for some time. He wonders, offhandedly, how frequently Anatoly does this sort of thing. He is, if nothing else, a master of appearances. An essential quality now that his captains have arrived.

"Добро пожаловать," Anatoly says loudly, leaning back in his chair with the kind of fluidness that might come with a few glasses of vodka. "Come in. You remember Oliver, of course?"

The smiles that greet him are tight, restrained and disingenuous. Oliver doesn't make the mistake of thinking that he has any friends in this room. Not even Anatoly, when it comes down to it. No… _his_ friends are currently sneaking into these men's homes.

"It has been many years, симпатичный мальчик," greets the first man in the door, five familiar faces following in his wake.

Oliver grits his teeth at the nickname. It's a power play. It always was. There aren't many who would say it to his face, but - much like his wife Tatiana - Nikita has always taken bold steps to secure his place near the top of the social structure.

"Nick… Здравствуйте," Oliver says tightly.

" _That'd be Nikita_ ," Digg's voice says in his ear. " _We're clear to check his place."_

" _What did he say to Oliver?"_ Felicity asks.

" _My Russian ain't exactly what you might call fluent, but I'm relatively certain he called him 'pretty boy,'"_ Mal chimes in.

"I understand your ship is here for repairs?" Nikita asks, settling into a chair opposite Oliver.

"Unfortunately, you would be correct," Oliver says, answering his team and Nikita both in one sentence.

"It has been weeks, no?" another man asks, sitting next to Nikita and grabbing himself a glass and the vodka bottle.

"If it had been minor, Anton, we'd have done it ourselves," Oliver replies.

" _That's a go for Anton's place,_ " Zoe announces.

" _We sure none of the wives are there?_ " Kaylee asks. " _Comm systems I can handle. Mean mob wives I ain't exactly prepared for."_

"You always did prefer to handle things yourself," notes Anton.

"That's for certain," Oliver replies.

" _Wives are out to dinner themselves_ ," Mal chimes in. " _So says Alina, at any rate."_

" _But how sure's she?_ " Kaylee presses. " _They ain't invited her_. _She's back at her place with Simon an' the others._ "

"I'm lucky to have people I can rely on in times of need, though," Oliver says.

" _He talkin' to us or Anton_?" Kaylee asks.

" _Both, I think_ ," Digg huffs. " _Stop the chatter, everybody. Lines quiet unless it's vital. We don't want anyone distracted."_

He doesn't mean 'anyone.' He means Oliver and Oliver knows it, but he's not exactly wrong. Distraction leads to mistakes and they can't afford those right now.

"This is what Brotherhood means," Anatoly announces, instantly commanding the room. "Is _family_. Reliable in times of need and owing our complete loyalty to. Is good to have my captains all in one room. It has been too long."

" _Is everyone there, Oliver_?" Digg asks.

"Yes," Oliver says, raising his glass as though he's toasting in agreement with Anatoly. "It's a rare day all seven of the captains are in one place. That deserves a celebration."

"To братство," Anatoly says, raising his glass as well.

"To brotherhood," the others echo following suit.

"So… Oliver," Nikita says after a healthy swig, swirling the rest of his vodka in his glass as he appraises Oliver. "Rumors of your demise were overstated, it seems."

Oliver doesn't miss the way Anton and Andrew trade looks at each other or the scowl on Sasha's face. He doesn't miss _anything_ Sasha does, actually. The other man's hatred runs pretty deep and considering that he's an interrogator for the mob, Oliver is keenly aware of what a mistake that would be.

"You know better than to listen to rumors, Nick," Oliver tells him.

"Near two weeks and this is the first we see of you," Nikita continues, his gaze calculating and more observant than Oliver would like. "You can see why many believed what was being said. Clearly, you are not dying, though. So tell me, Oliver… what _have_ you been doing these weeks?"

"Business that doesn't concern you," Oliver tells him with a forced smile. "I don't owe you an explanation."

" _Please_ ," Maxim scoffs from a few chairs down. "We all know what he has been doing these weeks. It's hardly a secret."

Oliver stiffens at that, glancing down the table, his eyes narrowing in Maxim's direction.

"Have you not seen his fiance?" Maxim continues, smirking before whistling lowly and making a lewd gesture. "I wouldn't be seen for weeks either."

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Oliver snaps sharply, a raw anger building in his gut.

"Why?" Sasha asks, speaking up for the first time. "You never do. And you do not keep it to your _eyes_."

"Keep your eyes to yourselves or I will relieve you of them," he growls, meaning every bit of it. "And keep your _hands_ to yourselves or I will cut them off before I slit your throats."

He can hear Felicity suck in a breath in his ear even as the men around him chuckle.

"Oliver Queen tamed by a woman," Nikita says, shaking his head. "I never thought I would see the day."

"We are all better with a strong woman behind us," Anatoly says diplomatically, shifting the conversation with expert precision. "It's past time for Oliver to have himself a good match. Now if only we could get _Alexei_ to settle down. Inara is lovely, my friend, but you need more stability than a companion can provide."

Alexei shrugs, grabs a handful of nuts from a bowl in the center of the table and pops a few in his mouth, chewing a moment before replying.

"Women are complicated. Wives are _very_ complicated," Alexei says after a beat. "I like simple. I will leave the messiness of marriage to my fellow captains. I am content without one."

"Bah," Anatoly scoffs. "Four generations your family has been Bratva and it will die with you because you will not find a wife and carry on the line."

Alexei just shrugs again. Against his better judgement, Oliver kind of likes the guy. He manages to stay out of the worst of the Bratva politics anyhow. And, though he isn't saying it now, thanks to Inara, Oliver is well aware that one of the reasons Alexei is unwilling to take a wife is that he doesn't want to bring anyone into the mess that is the Russian mob. Considering what he knows of the Bratva wives, Oliver sort of respects that.

"But, enough of this talk of women," Anatoly announces. "There is business to discuss. Nikita, have you heard back from Niska about the arms proposal?"

Any other time, an arms deal with Niska would be something that Oliver would be _very_ interested in. Cooperation of any sort between the Bratva and Niska was something to be concerned about and if they were working on some kind of gun deal, that was absolutely something Oliver would be interested in stopping - Bratva captain or not. But now… today… he's way more concerned about the soft " _oh frak!"_ in his ear.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from saying " _talk to me, Felicity,_ " but he manages to rein it in. Mostly because Digg says it first.

" _It's fine_ ," Felicity says quickly. " _Well not_ fine _fine. It's not great, but it's workable. It's fine_ ish _. This just has better software than I expected. But I can upload the comm records to my tablet and decrypt it as we go."_

" _It won't take longer?_ " Sara asks warily.

" _Nope_ ," Felicity says with far more cheer than is really appropriate given the situation. " _I got this_. _Kaylee, just download the last month's worth of communications and set the encrypted data to run through the algorithms I showed you on the tablet, okay?_ "

" _Check_ ," Kaylee echoes back. " _Already downloadin'."_

" _I got men at the back door_ ," Roy hisses.

" _Keep out of sight and whatever you do don't let them see your face_ ," Digg commands. " _Felicity, speed it up_."

" _You realize I'm not like physically picking up files and moving them, right_?" Felicity answers. " _Telling me to speed up a data transfer is like telling someone to shoot bullets faster. I already pulled the trigger. It's just gotta do it's thing now."_

"...don't you think, Oliver?" Anatoly asks.

"Sorry, what?" Oliver asks immediately.

The whole room is looking at him. And he has no idea at all what they were talking about. _Fantastic_. Anatoly's face is a study in disbelief and strained tolerance as he blinks back at Oliver.

"This business with the Italians," Anatoly says slowly, as if he's repeating himself - which he likely is. "It is a problem. Bertinelli has been stretching further into our territory lately. It needs to be dealt with. _Quietly_."

He doesn't give a damn about Bertinelli at the moment. Maybe Felicity had been right. Maybe listening over the comms _had_ been a bad idea, but he couldn't help it and it's too late now.

"He lost a lot of men recently," Oliver counters. "Salvati, Copani, DeStefano... I'm not even sure if his daughter made it. And he's down a major center of operations. I think we should wait and watch. He's likely to have to scale back as it is."

"Salvati's dead?" Anton asks, leaning forward in his seat with great interest. "This is your doing?"

"My fiance's, actually," Oliver replies with no small amount of pride.

" _Oliver_ …" Felicity says in a warning tone.

Okay, that's fair. It's not exactly something she's proud of, but it _will_ earn her respect with these men and that's worth something. If it gives them second thoughts about looking at her like a piece of meat, he's all for that.

"Oliver's kitten has claws," Anatoly grins broadly. "She is more than meets the eye, no? And already useful to the Bratva. I approve most greatly of this union, Oliver. She is a good woman - strong, smart, loyal as well as lovely. She suits you well."

" _He approves because I killed someone he didn't like? Is it wrong that I'm sort of flattered? I mean, I'm disturbed, too, but still…_ " Felicity muses.

"Thank you," Oliver smiles back at Anatoly. "She does. I'm sure she'll be happy to have your approval."

"... _are you now?_ " Felicity asks. "' _Cause, I mean, I'm not. He is a mob boss, after all."_

" _Focus, Felicity,_ " Digg says with a grunt that tells Oliver he's fighting someone. " _I got a man down in the kitchen. We need to get out of here. Move on to the next house before he comes to._ "

" _Finishing up… now_ ," Felicity says with a triumphant little turn to her voice. " _On to Andrew's? Or Maxim's?"_

" _We just finished up at Anton's and we're headed to Andrew's now,"_ Zoe chimes in.

" _Maxim's it is, then,"_ Sara chirps. " _Whoever finishes first can get Alexei's before we all meet up at Alina's and check out Sasha's records_."

" _Solid plan_ ," Mal agrees. " _Let's make like a ship and jet outta here."_

The comms are quiet for a bit then, which is definitely for the best since the captains' meeting gets more and more involved. This might just be part of Anatoly's plan to root out his would-be usurpers, but he clearly has goals beyond that. Business doesn't stop for the Bratva. Not even in the face of betrayal.

"You realize, of course, if Bertinelli knows it was your woman who put Salvati down, you may have a problem?" Anatoly says, drawing Oliver's immediate attention. "He is not what you might call a forgiving man."

"Neither am I," Oliver counters. "He already would have been after her just for her connection to me."

"As long as you are prepared, my friend," Anatoly levels at him. "If Helena died in your skirmish… one cannot predict how he will react."

"He might send Oliver a thank you gift," Maxim snorts.

"Perhaps... or he might declare a blood feud," Anatoly points out. "One can never say with the Bertinellis."

"I appreciate the concern," Oliver says. "We'll keep an ear out for news on the Italians."

Anatoly nods and rubs his chin in thought before looking to Sasha.

"Has our… guest said anything?" he asks.

"Nothing intelligible," Sasha smiles toothily. "It has been only days. These things… they take time. Patience. The proper leverage. He will talk. They all do."

Anatoly looks pleased at this, but Oliver is a little more wary.

"You have one of Bertinelli's men?" he asks.

"Low-level scum tried to hijack one of my ships a few days ago," Anatoly says. "This was bad idea. With your scuffle, Bertinelli likely thinks him dead. This gives me excellent opportunity to learn all he knows before we quiet him up."

Well… there's no mistaking what _that_ means. Rival mob or not, Oliver feels bad for anyone targeted by Sasha's wrath. Oliver's done his duty as an interrogator far more often than he'd like, but Sasha has always seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. When he'd first gotten to know Alina, before he'd started sleeping with her, he'd been worried that her husband's brutality had extended to her. No, she'd said. She'd never ranked as important enough to be the focus of his attention. The relief and disbelief that had washed through him at the same time had been a strange mixture. But, ultimately, it was very much to Alina's favor that her husband had rarely given her much of his attention.

Talk of business drags on and Oliver makes mental notes of all the things he'd really like to stop. Guns to Niska. Drugs on every planet in the Blue Sun system. Shipping the less successful girls from Maxim's brothels to even less reputable establishments along the rim. Protection money demanded from union leaders in the Red Sun system. He can't win every fight. He can't even _fight_ every fight. Alpha-Omega has to take precedence just as soon as they get out of here, but all of this… yeah. He needs to stop it. Somehow.

"This is everything, I believe. Is it not?" Anatoly is saying suddenly, snapping Oliver's attention back to the room.

"Is it everything?" Oliver asks aloud.

" _Five minutes, Oliver,_ " Felicity says in his ear.

"I have nothing else," Andrew says - as if he had anything to start with. "So, unless _you_ do…"

It's readily apparent that everyone is looking at him and he's got to come up with something. If Felicity needs five minutes, he'll buy her five minutes.

"There is… something else," Oliver says slowly, as if dragging out the words might actually buy him the time he's looking for.

It doesn't. And then, of course, everyone is looking at him expectantly.

"A bit ago we discovered that someone was stealing huge quantities of illegal materials from ARGUS," Oliver gives up.

" _Oliver, what the hell are you doing?_ " Digg hisses.

"...Go on," Anatoly says, looking considerably more interested than he has this whole meeting.

"We've been trying to figure out how exactly they've been doing it," Oliver says. "So far we don't have much. We know whoever it is took biological weapons from a Blue Sun warehouse, which ARGUS has since recovered."

"But they got in?" Anatoly asks with deep curiosity. "They located and stole _ARGUS_ supplies successfully?"

" _This is gonna bite you in the ass, man, and I'm not even gonna be sorry when it does_ ," Digg says in annoyance. " _I'm just gonna be pissed_. _You're seriously telling the_ mob _that ARGUS weaponry is vulnerable, Oliver?_ "

"They've probably cleaned up whatever hole they left in their security by now," Oliver says. "But I want to know who took the weapons in the first place… and how they found out about the vulnerabilities at Blue Sun."

"This is… most interesting, Oliver," Anatoly nods. "I wish you had brought it to my attention sooner."

"Well… as it was noted earlier, I've been indisposed," Oliver says, smiling guilelessly.

"Must be some woman if she can distract you from _that_ kind of payday," Maxim smirks.

Oliver clenches his jaw as he smiles back, tight-lipped with narrowed eyes. He's not sure which of these men he dislikes the most, but Maxim is certainly a contender.

" _We're good_ ," Felicity says in his ear. " _Heading to Alina's."_

" _Us, too_ ," Mal chimes in. " _Got the info. Can't make heads or tails of it myself, though."_

" _It just needs to decrypt_ ," Felicity tells him. " _Half hour or less and we'll have readable data."_

" _We worried at all about Sasha comin' home_?" Zoe asks.

" _Alina says he has plans this evening_ ," Sara says.

"Sasha," Anatoly announces, as if on cue. "You are seeing our… _guest_ downstairs after this, yes?"

Sasha nods, more delight than is really warranted gleaming in his eyes.

"I think perhaps I shall join you in an hour or so," Anatoly announces. "I should like very much to see your progress."

"Of course, Pakhan," Sasha nods.

"This is everything then?" Anatoly asks.

A resounding quiet follows.

"Good, good," he nods. "Then I wish you all a good night. Oliver, stay a moment. I would like to have a word before you leave."

This was prearranged, of course. A necessity given his reliance on a wheelchair and the decision to hide that fact from the other captains, but Oliver has no doubt that Anatoly would genuinely like a word with him as well. He's _entirely_ too interested in Oliver's little revelation about Blue Sun's vulnerabilities.

" _We're walking up to Alina's now_ ," Roy tells him. " _Turning the comms off._ "

Oliver taps his ear to turn off the comms. It leaves him uneasy how well everything went. Their plans don't go this smoothly, in his experience. But other than one man who Digg had handily taken care of, it seems like this time it had. Still… he won't be ready to declare this a success until he has his people back safely and a list of names for Anatoly.

The other captains get up, start to file out of the room. All save Sasha, who lingers and makes his way over to Oliver for a moment.

"Six years ago, I would have killed you," Sasha tells him.

"You would have tried," Oliver counters immediately.

"Embarrass me again and you will wish I had," Sasha informs him.

Oliver leans back in his chair, looks up at the brutish man whose threats are most certainly not empty.

"Embarrass you?" Oliver asks.

"Yes," Sasha hisses.

" _That's_ what you object to?" Oliver asks in disbelief. "Not that I had an affair with your wife, but that it made you look bad?"

Sasha says nothing, but he nods and the look on his face makes it exceedingly clear that Oliver is entirely on point.

"Did you _ever_ care about her at all?" Oliver questions.

"You don't get to ask me that," Sasha tells him. "She is my woman. She belongs to me. You have your own now. Leave what is mine alone."

"Alina's not _property_ , Sasha," Oliver says, lip curling in distaste.

"Not technically, perhaps," Sasha shrugs.

There is very little that Sasha could have said to make Oliver want to protect Alina more. He's exceedingly glad that their plan includes getting her the hell away from this place, from Sasha. A part of him will always regret that he didn't do that six years ago. But at least it's something he can do _now_.

"Boys, boys…" Anatoly says, rubbing his brow. "You two and this woman… let this _go_. The past… she is over. Oliver has a fiance he is quite taken with. He is not pursuing Alina. And Sasha… history is done. Let sleeping dogs lie, as they say."

Sasha's cheek twitches, but he nods. He wouldn't dare contradict the Pakhan. Whatever else tonight's efforts reveal, Oliver has no doubt the man isn't involved in whatever plot there might be to overthrow Anatoly. He's too dependent upon his leader's approval for that.

"Good," Anatoly nods. "This is good. Now Sasha, see to our guest. I will join you in a bit."

One last long, hateful look toward Oliver and Sasha exits the room as well, leaving Oliver and Anatoly alone again. Oliver exhales a breath of relief as soon as the door shuts.

"This was good, Oliver," Anatoly tells him after a moment. "You did well. You were _distracted_ , but you did well."

"I had my team in my ear," Oliver tells him, pulling out the comm device and holding it up. "They have the files but they're still running encryption. Everything went well."

The surprise on Anatoly's face is unusual. It's rare the mobster is taken unawares.

"I am glad to hear this," he nods. "Tell me… this Blue Sun warehouse that you mentioned… was this to drag things out or was there truth behind it?"

He'd seen this coming, thankfully. He knows Anatoly well enough to know what peaks his interest.

"Enough truth that it wasn't an outright lie," Oliver tells him. "But it was an exaggeration. My people needed time."

"Then I suppose it was good you had them in your ear!" Anatoly declares, raising his glass to Oliver again.

"There was-"

He's cut off, though, by some kind of commotion in the hall. Shouting between Anatoly's guards and someone else. Anatoly stands immediately. Oliver can't. He does grab a gun tucked in his ankle holster, though.

"I must see the Pakhan!" a woman's voice shouts. "It is an emergency. He will want to hear this. I swear it!"

"That's Alina," Oliver realizes aloud, his blood suddenly running cold.

She's not supposed to be here. She's _supposed_ to be playing host to the most vulnerable of his team.

Through sheer determination, though she's slight and unarmed and generally meek, Alina forces her way into the room, two guards grabbing her by the arms as the doors swing open and she tries to bolt in.

"Pakhan, _Oliver_ ," she says a little desperately.

"What is-"

"It's the _wives_ ," she interrupts.

"What are you saying?" Oliver asks, moving to stand before realizing he can't.

"Tatiana and Natalia," she clarifies. "They are working against the Pakhan. They led some men to my house, stormed in. They have your crew who was staying there."

Thea. _Thea_. They have _Thea_.

Oliver's heart pounds furiously in his throat and he scrambles to get his earpiece back in and switch on the comms.

A moment later, he'll very much wish he hadn't.

"Digg," he says into the comm device.

"Bit busy, Oliver," Digg says through grunts that _definitely_ mean he's fighting.

"Ally, my chair's in the closet," he tells her. "Can you get it?"

"Oliver…" Anatoly says shaking his head as he rounds the table. "What is it you will do? You are in no condition to fight. My men, I will send them. I will go myself."

"They have _my sister_ ," Oliver snaps as Alina grabs his wheelchair and brings it to his side, offering him a hand to help him into it.

" _I'm okay, Ollie,_ " comes Thea's voice through the comms.

He actually sags into the chair under the weight of the wave of relief that sweeps through him.

"You're okay?" he demands. "Thea, you're okay?"

"Ollie…" she says.

He can hear her crying and the adrenaline that surges through him is nearly enough to give him the strength to stand. It's nearly enough to give him the strength to _run_.

"Thea I need to hear you say you're okay," Oliver repeats wildly.

"I'm okay," she manages. "I'm okay, but Ollie… I'm okay because Felicity got me out. She walked in first. With Kaylee. They knew who she was. They tried to grab her. She fought them, shot two men and shoved me out the door. She got me to safety and she slammed the door shut so they wouldn't have a shot. Ollie, they have Felicity."

He full-on stops breathing for a moment. All he can hear is the roar of blood in his ears as sheer terror washes over him. He has to do something. He _has to do something_. He has to save her.

"Sara, where is it?" he asks through the comm.

"Where is wh-" she starts.

" _You know what_ ," Oliver snaps. "The water. The Lazarus Pit water you keep in a vial. _Where is it_?"

"Oliver, you don't know what that costs," she says after a moment.

"I know what it might cost if I don't use it," he counters, already wheeling himself out of the room as fast as he can toward their wing of the house, Alina and Anatoly hot on his heels. "That's a price I'm not willing to pay. Now _where the fuck is it_?"

"Trunk under my bed," she tells him. "But Ollie, that's a bad id-"

"Thank you," he cuts her off as he races toward her room.

"Oliver, what are you doing?" Alina asks as they get to Sara's room and he closes in on her bed before hoisting himself out of the chair and lowering himself to the floor.

"What I have to," he answers.

"This is stuff of legend, Oliver," Anatoly warns him. "Even in legend, the price is very great."

"I know," Oliver replies, tugging an enormous wooden chest out from under Sara's bed and flipping it open.

There, buried in a pile of weapons she'd not chosen to wield today, lies a simple looking vial of clear liquid. He grabs it and unstoppers it immediately and doesn't hesitate in the least as he goes to pour it over his still-healing wound. Anatoly's hand grabs his wrist as he goes to pour the water, though, and he looks up to find the other man's eyes as apprehensive as he's ever seen. And considering they met on Lian Yu, that's saying something.

"Oliver, I want you to think before you choose this," Anatoly counsels.

All he can think about is Felicity. Felicity in that house. Felicity having shot two men. Felicity having saved his sister. Felicity at the mercy of mob wives she'd snubbed. There is, quite simply, no choice to make.

"It's already done," Oliver tells him.

And he pours the water.

It's wet. Wet like blood from a fresh wound... deep, cutting to the bone. It seeps in the cracks, dark as night and tugging at the soul like a reaper collecting his bounty.


	34. Chapter 34

Oliver stands up. Except, of course, he's not really Oliver. Not entirely. Not right now.

The thing in his body that knits together muscle and sinew, heals blood vessels and repairs nerve endings… it digs in its claws, pours bits of itself into his being and spreads through him like poison. Nothing looks the same to him as he gets to his feet. Nothing _feels_ the same. His thoughts aren't his own, exactly, but neither are they entirely foreign.

"Oliver?" Alina ventures hesitantly.

She takes all of one step toward him before Anatoly grabs her arm and holds her back with a sharp shake of his head and a warning glance. Were he in his right mind, Oliver would be surprised to see the uncertain, cautious look on Anatoly's face. His Pakhan is _afraid_ of him. That should tell Oliver a whole lot of things. But he doesn't care about that right now. His focus is singular, primal and violent in its intensity.

" _Oliver if you-"_ Sara starts off, only to be interrupted again.

"Where is she?" Oliver growls, grabbing weapons from Sara's stash as he speaks.

" _Did you seriously use the water?"_ she asks.

"Sara, where the _fuck is she_?" Oliver demands again.

" _I'm taking that as a yes_ ," Digg mutters.

" _Yeah this isn't going to be a problem or anything,_ " Sara drawls.

" _Alina's house_ ," Roy pipes up, finally answering the question. " _They're holed up in her living room. We have them boxed in, but there's a lot of them. At least eight men plus Tatiana, Natalia and this big burly dude with a blonde buzz cut and a sour look who seems like he's in charge."_

"Nikita," Oliver grits out, not even bothering to attempt to tamp down the rage that's boiling in his gut.

"It is Nikita?" Anatoly asks alertly. "He is behind this?"

"Not for long," Oliver responds, tucking a gun into his waistband and moving toward the door.

Alina shouts something after him and Anatoly scrambles to catch up with Oliver's long, sure strides. But Oliver pays attention to neither of them. All he hears is the roar of blood in his veins, angry and hungry for righteous vengeance. He wants Felicity. He _needs_ Felicity. And he wants everyone who tried to take her to bleed, to burn, to writhe in agony. More than that, though, he wants to be the one to rain hell down upon them all.

"Oliver!" Anatoly calls as they burst through the doors to the outside, snow eddies whirling around their feel. "Oliver, do not kill him! I need him alive!"

Oliver fully ignores him. He has no intention of any one of the people who took Felicity being left alive. He needs their pain, craves their deaths on a level that would terrify him were he in his right mind. But he's not and the bloodlust is all encompassing.

By the time Alina's house is in sight, he has a gun in each hand. His people are positioned strategically around the building, occasionally trading shots with some of the Bratva traitors using pillars in front of Alina's house as cover.

"Oliver, man, take cover!" Digg hisses from behind a near tree.

There is absolutely no chance of that happening. He is completely heedless of the spray of bullets narrowly missing him. He never breaks stride, instead raising both guns as he nears the door and simultaneously shooting the men hiding behind the pillars in their heads.

They drop in unison with sightless eyes and fast-growing pools of dark blood staining the pristine white snow beneath their heads.

"Oh shit," Sara breathes out as she, Digg, Zoe and Mal close in behind him.

The strangled noise from somewhere in the background is definitely Thea. Oliver spies her out of the corner of his eye, tucked behind a half-wall with Roy covering her and Jayne watching both of their backs. Something small settles in Oliver at that sight. He'd known Thea was safe, but _seeing_ it… that was different. Still, it's only a small comfort. His driving force is still the need to protect Felicity and he's not even the smallest bit sorry that he's killed these men. He fully intends to kill more.

He doesn't bother trying to twist the doorknob, instead knocking in the front door with a violent kick of his recently repaired leg. The wood splinters under the impact of his foot, little shards of oak flying inward, littering Alina's living room with debris.

Oliver gets the first two shots off before anyone reacts. They both hit their targets and the two men go down with little more than a sharp final cry, dead before they hit the ground. The others, though, close rank quickly after that. Nikita has clearly realized where the power lies in this situation and has Felicity by the throat with a gun pressed to her side. Tatiana, Natalia and their four remaining men use the other captives as human shields.

"Looks like we got us a good old-fashioned stand-off," Mal observes from a few steps behind Oliver as the half-crazed man's nostrils flare with single-minded adrenaline-fueled frustration. "We all good? Well… good as a prisoner in a mob coup can be, at any rate?"

"Much better now that we have a scythe," says River with an unconcerned smile as she tilts her head and looks at Oliver.

"Let my woman _go_ ," Oliver growls lowly at Nikita.

Even with a hand wrapped around her throat, he can see Felicity's breath catch and a shudder run down her spine at his words.

"How are you standing?" Simon asks bewilderedly, looking from Oliver to Mal. "How's he standing?"

"I'm gonna go out on a limb an' say I think you all bit off a bit more than you can chew," Zoe ventures, looking between the mobsters.

"He comes in like the prodigal son," Nikita spits to the side. "Welcomed back with open arms to sit at Anatoly's side. Just one more sign of how _weak_ Bratva has become under this leadership. As if we needed more proof. I do not fear симпатичный мальчик Alliance scum. He is as weak as the Pakhan."

"You might wanna be rethinkin' that statement," Mal blinks.

"Lazarus Pit water," Sara tells Simon. "That's how he's standing."

It makes no sense to Simon, but apparently Nikita has heard some tale of the Lazarus Pit because the look on his face is suddenly a great deal more guarded and he holds Felicity against him a little tighter, like she's the only thing standing between him and damnation. Accurate though that might be, it's a bad plan on his part, because she whimpers a little and it positively sets Oliver's blood on _fire_ at the noise.

"I told you," he hisses, "what would happen if you touched her."

Something inside him positively roars at the sight of Felicity in Nikita's grasp, his fingers tight around the slim column of her throat. It claws beneath his ribs, itches under his skin, sets him entirely on edge. For all he has hunted down men off of his father's list and pursued those who have failed the 'verse, this is the first time he's felt like a predator. Because, make no mistake, he is _hunting_ Nikita at this point. He is waiting for the smallest of slip-ups, the barest of openings before he strikes.

"Nik…" Tatiana says, looking wary and anxious as _whatever_ plan they'd had has clearly gone sideways at this point.

"Shut up," Nikita snaps, not looking in his wife's direction. "This is what is going to happen. We are going to go to our ship. When we get there, we will let your woman go along with the others except for the Tams. You can have her back. Unharmed. I give my word."

"Your _word_ means nothing," Oliver tells him, slowly moving forward. "And you will give her back to me _now_ or I will gut you slowly where you stand."

"Nikita, I don't think-" one of the other men starts.

It's the man holding back Kaylee. He moves slightly. _Barely_. But it exposes him enough that it gives Oliver a window of opportunity. One he's not about to let go to waste at this point. He hadn't grabbed his bow, but he _had_ grabbed some arrows from Sara's trunk. Before anyone so much as blinks, he grabs it from his waistband and throws it with furious force and deadly accuracy at the newly exposed henchman. The arrow flies true and sinks into the Russian man's eye, sending him sprawling backwards across the floor.

Kaylee shrieks, barrels forwards where Mal pulls her protectively behind him, but otherwise all hell breaks loose.

"Kill the pointless ones," Nikita orders coldly, trying to back up toward the doorway behind him while still holding Felicity by the neck.

The order jars everyone. Digg takes a risky shot at the man holding Wash, managing the graze the man's shoulder enough that he jolts, exposing his body for Zoe's shot to take him out. The shepherd's captor seems to realize Nikita's orders aren't about to save his life. He's backing up, still holding Book. But he makes the poor choice of being between Oliver and Nikita.

It's a fatal decision.

Oliver stalks forwards, taking advantage of the man's hesitance and obvious fear to yank him away from his captive and snap his neck in one smooth, brutal movement. He crumbles to the floor, a heap of lifeless limbs.

Oliver doesn't even bother to look down as he steps over the body.

"Nik, let her go," Tatiana says, panic obvious in her voice. "We have the Tams. She's who he wants. Just let her _go_."

Nikita again pays his wife no heed, though, and her estimation of their control over the Tams turns out to be woefully over estimated.

"This game grows boring," River sighs before throwing her head back into her captor's nose and spinning to grab Natalia's arm and yank it away from Simon.

But all of this goes on in the background for Oliver. He hears his team fighting. He knows that matters. Deep in his soul, he knows he cares about every single member of his crew, but he doesn't even turn his head to look at the battle going on behind him. His focus never drifts from Nikita's hand on Felicity's throat.

Rage boils his blood. He wants to snap every single one of the man's fingers. He wants to hear him scream in pain. He wants to watch his blood spill in rivers on the floor while he smiles. He wants to bare his teeth and _growl_.

"Give me _my woman_ ," he demands again as he starts to close the distance between them.

"Your people just took mine," Nikita counters, eyes flicking past Oliver for a fraction of a second. "Maybe I will have to keep yours in trade."

This was exactly the worst thing he could possibly have said.

The rage that's been building up steadily in Oliver boils over. He does not think as he lunges forward. His vision is all awash in red and his want for blood beneath his fingers is all encompassing. He does not hear Anatoly snap behind him not to kill Nikita. He does not hear Digg or Sara or Mal. The only sounds are the roar of his pulse and the choking noise Felicity is making. Nothing else matters. Nothing else reaches his ears.

Lazarus water has most surely cost him something. It will linger and haunt him later. But in this moment it is intensely useful. It charges his disused muscles, drives him with single-minded purpose that will accept no outcome other than the mangled body of his adversary at his feet, writhing in agony and begging for the release of death.

Later, he'll be unclear about how it all happened exactly. His limbs are not entirely his own in this moment. But in seemingly no time at all, it's his hands around Nikita's throat instead of Nikita's around Felicity's.

She's leaning against the wall, gasping for breath with her own hand running over her neck as Digg rushes to her side.

"What did I tell you?" Oliver demands, fingers digging into Nikita's windpipe as he speaks in low, terrifying tones. "You touch her and I will cut your hands off before I slit your throat."

His mouth is right next to Nikita's ear, his teeth bared and his voice more like an animalistic snarl than anything else. And he _wants_ this. Wants it like nothing else. Needs to feel the life seep out of this man beneath the press of his fingers as he screams for mercy.

Nikita claws at his hands as he struggles for air. Somewhere in the background Oliver can hear Digg, Anatoly, Mal. There are voices. He knows there are, but they're dull, distant things that don't register in this moment.

"Unfortunately, I don't have a knife at the moment," Oliver says, releasing Nikita's neck to grab his fingers instead, yanking them back with a brutal move that snaps loudly as the bones of the other man's fingers splinter and break apart. "But that just means this is going to take _longer_."

He's _enjoying_ this. And, in the moment, that doesn't bother him in the least. The rightness of breaking this man, this beast who touched what was not his to take, it surges through him, powers him, demands he do his worst. And _oh_ is he happy to oblige.

"Иди́/Пошёл в жо́пу!" Nikita swears, doubling over in pain, even though Oliver does not release his mangled fingers. "Отъеби́сь!"

"You will Гори в аду," Oliver hisses, wrenching the man's arm backwards, dislodging it from it's socket under another pained cry.

"I will see you there, Мудак," Nikita manages.

Oliver grabs another arrow from his waistband with his free hand and presses it against the man's belly in a firm jab riddled with intent. He will drive him through, he will watch him bleed on the floor and twist the arrow around for good measure to savor his howls of agony. His blood screams for it, the waters _need_ this. They will exact their price for their help.

" _Oliver_."

It is, perhaps, the only voice in the 'verse that could get through to him right now.

Felicity's hand covers his over the arrow, her small fingers twining with his. He doesn't relax under her touch like he usually does, but neither does he drive the arrow home. It is a stalemate, perhaps. His jaw tightens painfully and his hand tremors, torn between sliding the sharp point up beneath the man's ribs or grabbing hold of Felicity's fingers and clinging to her. The water demands one. His soul demands the other. But his body is home to both right now and his course is far from sure.

"Look at me," she insists, her voice hoarse and desperate.

It takes everything in him to tear his eyes from Nikita. Every single instinct he has tells him to dig into the man until he finds blood, until it drips from his fingers and soaks his wrists.

But… but this is _her_. And even now he can deny her nothing.

The blue of her eyes, soft and comforting, breaks through the haze of red filling his vision. _Barely_. So barely.

A war inside him rages at that. The pull of her. The pull of the water. They wrestle over the bits of his polluted soul. He feels like a bystander in the battle, like he has no control at all. His fingers twitch, the shaft of the arrow clenched in his grip and the soft stroke of Felicity's fingers against his knuckles. He's caught between the two. But she doesn't pull, doesn't demand, doesn't beg. In this way, like so many others, she is remarkable.

"I'm okay," she tells him, her other hand going to his cheek. "I'm fine. All right? You don't need to do this."

He blinks hard, his nostrils flaring as his teeth grit against each other. Because the part in him that's _him_ wants to focus on her, wants the pull of the tide to drag the waters back and calm the rush of blood in his veins.

"Come here?" she asks.

It's definitely a question. Her eyes continually search his, like she's afraid she'll spook him, send him retreating back into himself where demons live. It isn't her words that convince him, though.

No.

It's her hand.

Her fingers never leave his. If he drives that arrow home, lets it sink into this man's skin and spill his life, sticky and hot and slick between his fingers, it won't be just his hand bathed in the mobster's blood. It will be hers, too. Because he knows - he _knows_ \- she will not let go of him. Not for anything. Not even if it means holding onto his hand as he murders someone with it.

And he won't do that to her.

Not even for the water.

It takes a tremendous force of will to uncurl his fingers from the arrow. Even the smallest of movements that takes him further away from exacting vengeance feels like swimming against a riptide. But if there is one thing that Oliver Queen has in spades, it is determination.

The arrow drops to the ground with a clatter and she nods, eyes still fixed on his as her hand slides to work between his and the man's broken fingers.

Someone's saying something in the background. What and who, he has no idea, but he hears Digg's sharp response of " _just give it a minute"_ with a hand raised to the others. And slowly, surely, Felicity's fingers work their way into his, Nikita's broken hand falling away.

His muscles bunch, tensing with the need to grab for the man again, to make him pay, make him _scream_ , but Felicity's hand strokes his and she mumbles something soft against his arm as Digg grabs the mobster roughly and shoves him to Anatoly.

"He needs to suffer," Oliver hears himself gritting out. "He needs to break."

" _Shhh_ ," Felicity urges, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. "He's broken, my love. He is suffering. And we both know that Anatoly won't go easy on him. But I don't care about him. I care about you."

His fingers shake with unspent energy, with the need for _something_ and his eyes slam shut to block Nikita from view as he lets the scent of Felicity's shampoo overwhelm him, drown out the smell of blood and death around them.

"That's it," she murmurs comfortingly into the skin of his cheek. "You're good. I've got you."

She is partly right, anyhow. She has him. But as far as him being good… he's not so sure.

"Felicity, we need to get him out of here," Digg says pointedly.

Away from the bodies, he means. Oliver knows it. They want to put distance between him and the carnage he's wrought. Like that could dull it. Like that would make it less real or quiet the screaming in his blood for more.

"I think we need a minute," Felicity replies, her fingers sifting through his hair. "Alina, is there somewhere I can take him to get him away from this for a moment?"

"Sasha's office," the woman replies. "Two doors down the hall on your left."

"Thank you," Felicity says before moving her hands to cradle Oliver's face, her thumbs stroking his rough cheeks. "Come on. Just for a few minutes, okay?"

He opens his eyes at that, finds her looking right at him with so much concern, so much affection in her eyes that it slices through him. Not trusting his voice, he nods, his gaze never wavering from hers.

"Good," she breathes. "That's… good. Don't… just don't look back."

If she thinks seeing what he's done will make it harder for him to distance himself from it, she's wrong. They step away from the room, her hand in his, but the further he gets from the blood he's spilled the more he aches to go back, to gut Nikita, to slice open Natalia and Tatiana, to hear them scream in absolute agony as he drains the life from them drop by drop.

But he keeps on. For _her_. Because no matter what the water wants of him, no matter how it pulls at him, drags him down, he wants her more.

He pays absolutely no attention to Sasha's office other than to note it's empty. There are no threats here other than the ones he brings with him. She tugs him in by his hand and shuts the door behind them before rising up on her toes and resting her fingers on the back of his neck to tug him down slightly and rest their foreheads against each other.

"Tell me what you're feeling," she says after a moment when the tension doesn't ebb from his muscles even under the touch of her hand.

He struggles with that. It's hard to put into words.

"Raw," he manages after a moment, gulping heavily as he pulls away and stretches his neck to the side, cracking it against the tension in his spine. "Vengeful. Primal."

"That's the water," she reminds him. "Not _you_."

"Doesn't feel like much of a difference at the moment," he tells her.

And that's true. The water, it feels like it's bled through him, _changed_ him, like it's metastasized throughout his soul.

"I know better than that," she tells him. "And so do you, even if it doesn't feel that way right now."

He grunts in half agreement, clenching both fists and his sides and rubbing his thumbs against his forefingers. Vengeance, after all, is hardly a foreign concept to him.

"I have killed a lot of people, Felicity," he tells her. "I have never wanted to watch someone die by my hand as badly as I want to right now."

She hesitates before nodding. Barely, but it's there, and he hates his confession for that. But it's true and he needs her support now more than ever.

"You were scared for me, Oliver," she reminds him, gripping both of his hands in hers. "It's understandable that you're a bit… protective at the moment."

" _Possessive,"_ he counters, eyes flaring with heat that makes her suck in a breath as he drives that point home. "Not just protective. He _took_ you from me. He can't have you. You're _mine_ and I need to.. I need to break every bone in his body until he knows that."

"Oh…" she manages, her lips parting in surprise. "That's…"

" _Yeah_ ," he says heavily.

There's a weighty moment of silence where she studies him. He feels her scrutiny as if her gaze is a physical touch as it rakes over him.

"I think…" she starts after a moment. "I think maybe it's not _him_ you need to prove to that I belong to you. I think it's you."

He stills at that, but the roar in his blood is back, that primal desperate want for _something_ that tugs at his soul.

"What do you mean?" he asks, because he's sure he's interpreting her wrong. He must be.

"I mean… I'm yours. You're mine. And maybe you just need to remind yourself of that fact," she says, letting go of one of his hands to rest a hand against his chest.

He groans at that, clinging to the tiny bit of restraint that he has somehow managed to hold on to. The combined force of her suggestion and the pull of the base nature of the Lazarus Pit waters are compelling to say the least.

"I just killed five people and tortured another one," he points out.

"Do you think I love you any less for that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as her fingers trail across his chest. "I shot two people in that room, Oliver. Do you love me less because of it?"

"Of course not," he counters immediately, like the very suggestion is ridiculous.

Because _it is_.

"Right," she says, letting her hand slide up to curl around the back of his neck and leaning her body into his. "You poured that water on your leg to save me. So let me save you from it now. It's making you feel primal? Possessive? _Fine_. Be primal, Oliver. Possess me. Prove I'm yours."

Those words from her, the feel of her fingers against his skin, the scent of her surrounding him, it _breaks_ something in him, like a dam overrun.

His hands can't settle. He needs to touch all of her at once, to brand every inch of her skin with his touch. He _has_ to. His bloodlust of earlier shifts to a different sort of lust almost seamlessly. His pulse is suddenly screaming for her, need rages in his chest and surges in his veins. This is considerably more than want. It's about far more than desire. This is desperation for her borne of primal need, the basest sort of craving. And _oh_ is he famished.

The way he kisses her is fierce, almost punishing. His teeth clack against hers as his hands go from her face to her hips, turning them and walking her backwards until she hits the door. The way his fingers dig in will probably bruise, but the whimper she lets out is far from any sort of cry of distress. It's needy and wanting and it makes him all the more desperate to bury himself inside her, lose himself in her body and claim her in the oldest way possible.

His fingers tug at her blouse, pulling it apart, heedless of the buttons but somehow managing not to pop any of them off in his frantic need for skin and _her_. Her hands fumble with the closure of his pants, working it open and shoving his slacks and boxers down in one swift movement before he hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her up the door.

" _Yes_ ," she hisses out as her skirt rides up under her parted legs and he presses himself fully against her.

His blood goddamned _boils_ in triumph when she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back exactly as hard as he'd kissed her earlier. They're all tongue and teeth and bruised lips.

It's raw. And it's real. And it's exactly what he needs.

He releases his hold on one of her legs to tug at the side of her panties until it tears, the remnants of the fabric sliding down her other leg even as he lifts her leg back up and drives up into her in one swift movement.

"Oh god," she chokes out, her nails digging into the skin of his neck.

There is nothing gentle about this. There is nothing slow or tender. The need to lose himself in her is absolute. His pace is demanding. The door behind her rattles with every frantic thrust as he buries himself inside her again and again.

" _Oliver_ ," she whimpers, her back arching as her heels dig into his ass.

It only serves to drive him more. His fingers dig into her thighs as his pelvis connects with hers roughly in a brutally fast rhythm. Later, he'll be a little surprised she came at all. But she does. Quickly and violently, sobbing his name and bowing her back off the door as her nails leave marks on his neck.

The way she clenches around him, pulls him even deeper inside her, makes something foreign in his blood _sing_ with triumph. He drops his head to the crook of her neck, never slowing his pace even as her orgasm fades. He pulls the skin where her shoulder meets her neck between his teeth, bites down hard enough that he will probably leave a mark. The gasp she lets out is one of surprise, surely, but not of pain.

" _Mine_ ," he growls against her skin.

She could have stayed quiet. She could have agreed. Instead, she draws a line up the knots of his spine until she can tangle her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

" _Mine_ ," she declares in answer, tugging a little bit.

And… _fuck_ that's better. It's more than enough to tip him over the edge. He comes blindingly hard, spilling himself into her with a force that surprises even him. The door rattles violently and he gasps against her skin like he's finally breathing again after drowning.

In some ways maybe he is.

The call of his blood has calmed, for the moment at any rate, and he lets her down with considerably more gentleness and concern than he'd expressed at any point while he'd fucked her desperately against the wall.

"Are you okay?" he asks, stepping back a step and more than a little terrified of her response. "I didn't mean to-"

"Stop," she orders him immediately, settling both hands against his chest. "I am _definitely_ not complaining. I mean that was… intense, yes. And maybe not the way I'd like to go about having sex on an everyday basis, but… you know… _sometimes_."

"I didn't hurt you?" he asks, tilting her head to the side a little to look at her neck.

"Pretty sure _I'm_ the one that left _you_ bleeding," she winces, touching his neck where her nails had dug in. "Sorry about that."

"Don't you dare apologize," he tells her.

"Right back at you," she replies immediately. "Except, maybe for ruining my underwear. It's _cold_ out there, you know."

"If it helps, I promise to warm you up as soon as we're back to our room," he tells her.

"Really?" she asks, grinning up at him.

" _Thoroughly_ ," he tells her as she lets her hands slide up around his neck again.

"You're better then? That worked? Because, if so… _go me_. Like, I'm taking that as a victory," she tells him. "Defeating evil effects of Lazarus Pit waters with sex is definitely worth a victory lap. Or three. And in case you're wondering, yes I _did_ mean that how it sounded."

He chuckles at her and shakes his head fondly as he thinks her question over. It's… _better_. There's no doubting that. But for how long, he has no idea. The pull, that darkness… it's still _there_. It's just not overwhelming. For now.

"I think… you bring out the best of me," he settles on finally. "Even against the Lazarus Pit waters. And I'm a fan of your definition of a victory lap. You definitely deserve one. Or three."

Her smile is _blinding_.

She opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a hard knock on the door. She jumps, reflexively tugging her shirt closed. Ultimately, though, the door doesn't open. They can, however, hear Digg clearly on the other side.

"If you two are done defiling Sasha's office and scarring the rest of us for life, we need to get going," he says, sounding like he got the short straw for who had to come talk to them and he very much is unhappy about it.

"Two minutes, Digg," Oliver shouts back. "Just gotta find my pants."

Felicity drops her head to her hands, blushing furiously.

"Coulda gone my whole life without hearing that," Digg mutters, his voice fading as he walks away from the door.

"Come on," Oliver says, laughing as he tugs Felicity's fingers away from her flushed cheeks before winking at her. "Let's go see about that victory lap."


	35. Chapter 35

Their so-called 'victory lap' is a total contrast to the way he'd taken her against the door in Sasha's office. That's by design. He has something to prove. Yes, there's a carnal desire for her that sometimes swamps him with desperation. But it isn't just need between them. It's want, too. And it feels vital that he remind her that their connection is far more than the heady rush of hormones.

He takes his time because he can, savors the way her breath shudders and she arches against the sheets as he explores her body with an unhurried pace they've never quite had the time for so far. There's a rightness to the quiet way he mouths at her skin and softly strokes her sides, to the way their gazes lock until the last possible second when they both finally tumble over the brink.

A part of him is almost regretful when that inevitable moment comes. He wants this to stretch out forever, to stay buried in her body with her hands trailing up his back and his skin pressed to hers. It can't, of course. Their bodies can only take so much. And anyhow, there's a world outside their door, a mission they're both committed to, a ship to captain. But the thought that this waits for him at the end of the day, that this partnership between them is so solid, so _fundamental_ … it loosens some of the knots of tension that have lived inside him for a very long time.

He loves her. Fully. Entirely. With every contraction of his heart. And if the awed look on her face as she runs her thumb across his lips while his body finally stops pulsing within hers is any indication, she's well aware of exactly how he feels.

That's been the point of this, quite frankly. Taking her to bed after their encounter at Alina's house had been something that'd had very little to do with the rush of blood that pounds through his veins and the bliss pulsing across his nerves. It had been illustrating the connection between them, the way she can make his heart feel lighter and pull a smile from his downturned lips without even trying.

A lazy, little contented sigh slips off her tongue as he kisses her thumb, lingering with the press of his lips against her slightly calloused digit. He's still inside her. The urgency of moments before has fully dissipated at this point, but the welcoming warmth of her wet heat leaves him completely reluctant to pull out. And, anyhow… she doesn't seem to mind.

"You know, this is the first time we've had sex in an actual bed?" she asks, smiling up at him with eyes alight and a broad smile with bright teeth.

"I had noticed that," he agrees, resting all of his weight on one elbow while he uses his other hand to stroke hair off of her sweat-stained brow. "We have a lot of time to make up for once we're back on Verdant."

"It's a _really_ good thing those bulkheads are soundproof," Felicity replies with a grin, waggling her eyebrows at him.

"Definitely," he agrees with a huff of a laugh before dipping his head to kiss her softly, her lips greeting his with a hum of appreciation before he pulls back. "I'm not crushing you am I?"

"Maybe a little," she acknowledges with a tilt of her head as she trails her toes up the back of one of his thighs. "But I like it."

His relief at her response is sweeping. He smiles peacefully, shuts his eyes and rests his forehead against hers as he breathes her in.

"I like everything about us, Oliver," she says in a whisper after a moment, running her fingers along his jaw. "And I love all the ways you love me. Whether that's wild and fast against a door or soft and gentle in bed… you know that, right?"

She sees right through him. Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised. Sometimes he thinks she knows him better than he knows himself.

"I know," he agrees.

And he _does_. Even if sometimes it doesn't seem quite real. Even if he can't understand how he's this lucky.

"Do you?" she probes, locking her eyes with his and searching his gaze for any sign of doubt.

"I do," he tells her. "Even if I sometimes need you to remind me. I just… needed to prove to both of us that we're more than _that_. I've… I've been with more than my fair share of women over the years. You know that. But with us, it's never _just_ sex. Back in Sasha's office… I didn't like being driven by something other than how I feel about you. It felt…"

"You felt like you were using me as a means to an end," she sighs, understanding entirely what he's saying. "Oh, Oliver."

He sighs, kisses her forehead, the salty taste of mostly-dried sweat clinging to his lips.

"I just…" he starts, trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words. "When I'm with you, I want it to be about _us_. Not because I have to keep myself from killing someone. It feels wrong."

When he lifts his head back up, his hips still cradled between her legs, his spent cock still partly inside her and the taste of her skin still clinging to his lips, he's greeted by a beautifully surprised smile and a look of wonder that colors her eyes.

"Okay," she nods slowly. "Okay. It's about us. But, for the record, Oliver, that _was_ about us. Maybe not in the same way as it usually would be. But do you think that would have worked if I had been anyone else? Because, I don't."

He pauses as that, her words sinking in, the truth of them finding home. There had been nothing and no one else who could have pulled his attention away in that moment where he'd held the arrow pressed to the underside of Nikita's ribs. He can't imagine that anyone else ever could have or ever _will_. It's just her.

"I guess," he agrees hesitantly.

While she has a point, it's still not quite enough for his comfort level. And something about the lack of control over his own actions sits uneasily with him.

"Doesn't matter now," she tells him, stroking the side of his face with open affection. "It's over anyhow."

"Right," he agrees.

And it is.

Mostly.

He tells himself it is, anyhow. He demands that of himself, because he refuses to believe that this will linger, that his control is transient at best. He keeps on telling himself that until somewhere around five in the morning when he wakes up in a cold sweat, completely fixated on the knowledge that somewhere, _somewhere_ in this building Nikita still breathes.

Slamming his eyes shut, he wills the thoughts to fade away, wills himself to control it. He clenches his hands in tight fists, his nails pressing half-moon crescents into the flesh of his palms.

This cannot happen again. He won't let it.

He focuses his breathing, thinks back to Shado and her mediation, conjures up memories of slapping bowls of water for weeks on end. This is about discipline, he decides. He has that. He can _beat_ this. He doesn't need to use Felicity to defeat the demons roaring for blood in his mind.

Seconds stretch on, each feeling longer than the last. His fingers shake with a desperate kind of unbridled rage and his nails break his own skin. He grits his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. His pulse races, a steady tattoo that he's all too aware of.

The waters rise in his mind like the tide, washing away reason, creating tidal pools of violent fury. Pictures paint themselves in his mind, again and again. Ways he could make Nikita pay. Ways he could hold Tatiana and Natalia accountable for their parts. They're increasingly brutal, each scenario gorier than the last. Something in him hungers for their screams, demands their blood. A retribution for their sins.

Every now and then, his mind shifts back to the woman sleeping peacefully next to him in bed. The beast that claws off bits of his soul, swallows it down in large, greedy bites… it would settle for her. If he has _her_. If he draws out screams of an entirely different sort from her, it will be sated… for a time. He knows that. But _god_ he won't do that. Not for this. Not like _this_.

The waters don't get to have her. They can't touch _her_.

Not again. He won't allow it.

It takes every ounce of will he has to lie there. But he _does_. Even if it makes the monster inside him snarls, claws at his gut and snaps its teeth at the calm parts of his mind. That doesn't matter. He can take it. He's gone through much worse.

"Ol'ver?"

His whole body tenses at the sound of her sleep-laden voice, the scratchy, raw quality of her pre-coffee tenor drawing the waters toward her all the more. He pushes them back, slams his eyes shut and concentrates on his breathing as he grits his teeth hard enough together that they feel like they might crack under the pressure.

"Oliver?" she asks more alertly, the bed creaking as she sits up.

"I'm fine," he manages without opening his eyes or unlocking his jaw.

He hopes, desperate and wild, that she'll accept his words, that she'll be wary enough of him to back away. But this is Felicity. And, even with his sanity slipping through his fingers, he knows such optimism is futile.

"You're not," she declares with certainty.

It's the gentle press of her fingertips to his face that jolts his eyes open. They go wide and frantic, seeing only her. She's so near. Her scent washes over him and his nostrils flare as he breathes her in. She's entirely nude. He knows she is. The sheet pools around her waist and the draw of her body is so intense that he actually moves to grab her before stopping himself.

"Oliver…" she says, concern and sympathy echoing in her voice. "Is it the water?"

"I can handle it," he says in an implied confirmation, blinking hard to try and clear his vision.

There's a moment of hesitation. Her fingers still against his cheek for a second before stroking through his beard. It lights a trail of _fire_ on his skin. He burns under her touch, need boiling his blood and searing in his veins. The compulsion to take her, to pin her to the mattress and part her thighs to bury himself inside her… it's bordering on too much. It's like trying to to hold his breath indefinitely.

"You don't have to," she says, shifting her weight so that her body leans against his.

His hands twitch, flex, grab her hip with too-firm fingers as he tries to remind himself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. He doesn't trust himself right now. He doesn't know what he's capable of. And he doesn't want her to feel like she has to let him fuck her to keep him from killing someone. The very idea tastes sour in his mouth, even as his body aches to take her in every way possible.

"I don't want us to be about this," he manages, looking at her with wide, fearful eyes.

"So don't let it be about how the water's making you feel," she tells him, her hand tracing down his neck until he grabs her fingers, holds them in place with a firm grip. "Let it be about me loving you. Let it be about me unable to see you tear yourself apart when I can do something to make it better. Just let me love you, Oliver."

He's a man with a lot of willpower, but even he has his limits.

There's barely time to register it when his control snaps. One moment he's balling his hands into tight fists, his nails digging into his own palms to ground himself, and the next he's gripping her hips with wide-spread fingers and kissing her like he's trying to devour her whole. And maybe he is. He's not entirely sure what the waters want from her.

It's more than sex. He knows that much - or he will when he comes back to himself, anyhow. It's more like possession than anything else. Dominance. Like some primal drive is pushing him to mark her, claim her in every way possible. It's not _him_. Not really. He's never been that guy and definitely never with Felicity.

But with the Lazarus Pit waters… It swamps everything else. When they take over - when they crest in his mind, a high tide that drowns out all higher reason and sense of self - it's the only thing he can think about.

His hands tug her closer, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her ass as he nips a line of bite-like kisses down the line of her neck. Her scent is stronger there and breathing it in, letting it wash over him… it _does_ something to him. It spurs him on, makes him hungry to taste his name on her lips and desperate to feel her body pulse around his.

It drives him mad.

Like he wasn't most of the way there already.

Somehow, probably because he's wholly distracted by his focus on her neck, she twists slightly out of his grasp. He doesn't think about _why_ , doesn't think about what she's doing as she reaches toward something on her side of the bed. Instead, his hands reach for her hips again, tugging her back toward him. But, _god_ , she's turned so she's on her hands and knees and fuck if that isn't exactly how he wants her.

"Oliver, just let m-" she starts, but whatever she's about to say dies on a groan as he drags his mouth up the line of her back, his early-morning stubble scraping against her skin as his nose brushes along the knobs of her spine.

Her back arches against his touch, stretching out and giving him more of an expanse to claim his own. A roar of triumph at her reaction buzzes in his brain like white noise, drowning out conscious thought. He'll care a whole lot about that later. But now…

"Hold on to the headboard," he growls when he reaches her ear, his body hovering barely above hers.

" _Oh_ ," she breathes out, sounding worn and overwhelmed already.

She does as he says, both of her hands gripping the top of the headboard, her forearms resting against it and her head pillowed against her arms, a cascade of blonde riotous hair spilling over her arm as she looks to the side, trying to spy him behind her.

Even just seeing her like that, bowing immediately to his command, open and naked and entirely at his mercy… it satisfies something in his bones that screams for her. He _needs_ this. So much so that it completely overwhelms him.

"Oliver, we should-" she starts, but he's way beyond processing words at this point.

He uses his knees to push her legs apart some, opening her up to him as he bands an arm across her hips and grips the headboard over her hands. Words seem like they're about as far out of reach for her as they are for him as he presses into her. Her sharp intake of breath transitions into a groan as her head thuds against the headboard between her forearms.

"Oh _fuck_ ," she breathes out after a second as he pulls back and slams into her anew.

"That's the idea," he grits out before gripping her earlobe with his teeth.

The startled little cry she lets out reverberates in his very core as his lips wrap around her piercing and he tugs at it with the curl of his tongue. Her back bows, hollowing out underneath him as her neck stretches and her ass presses upwards.

Nothing about this had been slow or gentle, but if it had been, that little reaction of hers would have killed it probably even if the water _hadn't_ been in his system. But now…

He releases her ear to pull back a little, never once breaking from the incredibly frantic, demanding pace he's set. Something in him needs to watch, needs to see the slide of his cock disappearing into her, slick with her fluids as she gives herself over to him so thoroughly.

The headboard slams in a frantic rhythm against the wall and she moans wantonly as he pounds into her, desperate for more of those sounds, for more of _her._ The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he releases the arm wrapped around her hips to reach for her clit.

He needs to hear her _scream_. He needs his name tumbling from her lips, needy and wanting. He needs it like air.

When he finds the little nub of sensitive nerves, pinches it and rolls it between his fingers, he can _hear_ her nails scrape into the headboard as she gulps down breaths and practically pants underneath him.

"Oh god, _Oliver_ ," she lets out in a muffled sob, thrusting her ass back against him so hard that he's deeper inside her than he'd have even thought possible.

He grunts in satisfaction at her response, but stays thirsty for more. He wants her to sob and scream his name. He wants it loud enough that everyone in the god damned 'verse can hear it, loud enough that everyone knows she's _his_. He needs his claim on her to be universally known and completely indisputable.

But she's biting her lip. He can see it. Pearly white teeth digging into her fleshy lower lip hard enough that the color has drained from it. And that… that won't do.

He lowers his mouth back toward her ear, giving his hips a jerk every time he thrusts into her, making the bed creak and the headboard clap against the wall in a staccato beat.

"I want to hear you fucking _scream_ ," he growls directly into her ear as she shudders. "Don't you _dare_ keep quiet."

That does it. Whether it's the words themselves or the tone or _everything_ , her teeth release her lip and everything she's been forcibly keeping in comes tumbling out.

"Oh _god_ , Oliver. Fuck, _yes_. Just like that. _Please_. _Please_."

Her voice is beautifully loud and entirely desperate and the water in his blood _boils_ to hear it. He tugs on her piercing again as he rubs her clit harder and thrusts his hips hard enough that he's bottoming out, his balls slapping against her skin. And she _screams_ as she comes, clenching like a vise around his cock while her head digs into her forearms and she gasps for air.

It's _perfect_. She's perfect. This is exactly what he needs, what the waters in his blood demand. If he won't kill - and he won't - then they need _this_. The thorough and complete possession of her. They command that he maker her his, as thoroughly as possible. Again and again with a desperation that buzzes in his skin and dominates his mind.

In some ways, he is completely and totally out of control in this situation. A part of him feels more like a spectator than anything else. It's his body. And her's. But it's a mimicry of _them_. And later, when the water has receded and his mind is his own once more, that will bother him tremendously. But now… now he just needs to spill himself inside her.

The tumble of words cascading off her lips and the pulsing of her body around his has him close. It doesn't take long. She's breathless, body spent but moaning lightly as he releases the headboard to settle both hands against her hips, gripping tightly as he pulls her body back against his with every thrust in a focused, goal-oriented determination. He _needs_ this.

It's blinding when he comes. He can't breathe, can't think, can only feel. Everything surges, crests as he releases himself deep inside her. It all coils low in his gut before exploding outward, a rush of heady bliss thundering in his veins and chasing back the waters in his blood. For a time. For now.

He barely has the presence of mind to brace himself before he collapses on top of her. One forearm braces against the mattress as his sweaty forehead presses against the skin between her shoulderblades. He can't even catch his breath for a moment and it takes more than a couple of too-fast heartbeats before his head clears and he comes back to himself.

"Are you-" he starts with deep concern before she cuts him off.

"I'm _great_ ," she interrupts, stroking the side of his face.

"Felicity, I…" he doesn't have words past that. He's not even sure what he wants to say. But as good as they are - as _great_ as they are - this doesn't feel like them and that's eating away at him in a way he can't even quite describe.

"Do you feel better?" she asks, searching his blue eyes with hers.

"Yes…" he admits. "For now. But this can't go on. I feel…"

She waits, hand stroking his sweaty brow with tremendous affection and patience, but he still can't quite find the words.

"Feel what?" she questions after a few moments.

"Like… I'm not me," he says, describing it as best he can. "Which makes this not _us_. And I just… I don't have control of my own mind when I'm like that. Not really. I don't know what I'm capable of and that's terrifying."

"You wouldn't hurt me," she announces with absolute certainty.

"I could," he counters, hand stroking up her back. "You don't know what it's like. I'm not… me. I'm like a puppet, a vessel for something else and I don't want to use you to make that go away."

She licks her lips and nods, clearly taking in exactly how much this is all bothering him and trying to see it through his eyes.

"We'll figure this out, Oliver," she promises. "I will always be here in any capacity you need me to be. I _love_ you. So much. I can't stand to see you suffer when I can do something about it, but I also don't want to see you blaming yourself or feeling like you're losing pieces of who you are."

"So what do we do?" he asks, looking to her like she has all the answers.

To be fair, she usually does. She's set a hell of a precedent.

"We get off this planet," she declares. "And we find someone who knows about the Lazarus Pit waters. More than just legends and rumors. Someone who _really_ knows. We find out how to beat it. Save the 'verse and… live happily ever after."

"That's a hell of a 'to do' list," he tells her, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face.

"But a worthwhile one," she smiles back.

"Yeah," he agrees, angling his neck so he can kiss her. "It is."

She sighs happily against his lips and he wonders for the millionth time how he got so lucky, what in the 'verse made her think he was good enough for someone like her. He's a mosaic of a man, all broken bits pieced back together, but she fills the spaces between the cracks in a way the Lazarus Pit water never could. He doesn't deserve her. He knows that. But he's absolutely going to spend the rest of his life trying to.

A yawn breaks his thoughts, her hand flying to her mouth as her jaw stretches out and exhaustion settles over her like a blanket.

"We should get cleaned up and then you should go back to sleep. It's early," he tells her, glancing toward his watch on the nightstand.

"Clean up later," she says on another yawn. "Too tired. Not sure I could stand anyhow."

"You said you were okay," he replies immediately in alarm.

"I am," she assures him. "Just… maybe a bit sore. We've had more sex in the last day than I've had in the last two years, Oliver. My body's not exactly used to that."

A pang of something runs through him. Sympathy, maybe. Guilt, probably. Affection, definitely.

"Come on," he says, pulling her into his arms and using his considerable core strength to lift her as he stands.

"Oliver, what-" she starts, eyes searching his.

"You don't have to stand," he tells her, kissing her softly. "Let me take care of you, okay?"

He needs to. As badly as the water in his body needed him to claim her, _he_ needs to cherish her, prove to her that they are so much more than frantic sex and blinding orgasms. And she gets that. He knows she does when her face softens and she strokes both sides of his face with naked affection before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Okay," she agrees with great ease.

A knot of anxiety loosens in his stomach at that and he walks them both to the bathroom where he sets her down on the countertop before turning on the shower. He can feel her watching him, her scrutiny lies heavy on his skin. She's worried about him. He knows it. And, really, he's worried about himself, too, but at the moment he's far more concerned with her.

When he deems the water warm enough, he looks back at her, drinks in the sight of her. Her hair is a wild mess. She has the purple bloom of a substantial hickey on the curve of her neck, the indentation of his teeth on her shoulder. The reddened scrape of beard-burn up her spine reflects back at him from the mirror. She looks worn. _Used_. And that sits poorly with him for the simple reason that he hadn't meant to _do_ that. If they had gotten carried away, swept up in passion and insatiable desire for each other, that would be one thing. That he could savor, take pride in. But this wasn't that. And that fact sends a resounding sense of sorrow echoing in his soul.

He walks over, presses his forehead to hers and kisses her so softly that it's barely a whisper of his lips against hers.

"You don't have to do this," she tells him as he moves to lift her again.

"Yes," he counters. "I do."

She doesn't argue.

He carries her into the shower, sets her down before he focuses himself solely on her. For all the desperation and nearly violent need of before, this is the very opposite of that. This is about care and affection and _her._ Every motion is tender and achingly slow. There is nothing sexual about it, really. He washes her off gently, presses soft kisses into her hair, against her temple. For all her protests that it isn't necessary, she sighs in total contentment as his fingers work shampoo into her scalp and he uses a warm, wet washcloth to clean away traces of sweat and sex from her skin.

For all that sex this morning had left him feeling disjointed and oddly disconnected from her, this brings it back. And when he finishes with her and has quickly scrubbed himself off, he holds her against his chest under the warm spray of water, cradling the back of her head in his hands as he presses kisses into the crown of her head almost absently.

"I know you don't think so," she says, looking up at him and brushing a wet lock of hair from her own cheek, "but you're wonderful."

A lump forms in his throat at that, the naked honesty of it is overwhelming. She _means_ it. And that… that means everything.

"Come on," he says as the water starts to cool. "Let's towel you off and get you back to bed."

"You coming with me?" she asks, tracing her fingers along his neck as he turns off the water and reaches for a pair of towels.

"I have some things I need to do," he replies as he drapes one towel around his own neck and uses the other dry her off.

"Is one of them brood?" she asks, eyes narrowing at him in suspicion.

"No," he says automatically before thinking about it.

And... okay, _maybe_ one of them is brood.

"Oliver…" she says in a warning tone with raised eyebrows.

"I need to talk to Anatoly, check on the ship," he tells her. "And… I want to talk to Sara, see what she knows about the water."

"I should-" Felicity starts, before cutting herself off and rethinking her words. "I could hold off on the nap and come with you?"

She searches his face as she talks, looking for some inkling of what he's thinking. But he's hesitant to let anything show. It's not that he objects to her being there, exactly. She has a right to know whatever Sara does about the water. It clearly affects her, too. But part of him wants to shield her from this, wants to keep her safe in her warm bed while he exorcises the demons living in his skin.

"It's okay," he says after a moment. "You should rest. I'll fill you in later on everything she says. I just… I think maybe this is something I should do by myself. At first."

"You don't have to protect me from this, you know?" she asks.

"That's not what this is," he counters. "Not entirely, anyhow. You bring out the best parts of me, Felicity. And some of what the water does to me… it's dark. I know you don't shy away from that. You never have. But I want to come to grips with that, with what it's doing to me and what that means before we face it together, okay?"

She surprised at his candor. That much is evident immediately, but it's startling how much respect for him shines in her eyes when she looks up at him.

"Okay," she nods. "But I want you to remember… no matter what this water does to you, no matter how dark a place it takes you to, I am going to love you regardless. And I will fight for you. No matter what that means."

His heart pounds and his pulse races as twin senses of affection and wonder surge through him. There is so much strength in her, so much _fight_ that sometimes it throws him. Sometimes he forgets. Because she's so bright and so bubbly and she helps him be the best version of himself. But she's this, too. She's fierce. And loyal. She will fight tooth and nail for what she believes in, for _who_ she believes in at any cost. And, somehow, she keeps those brighter parts of herself alight even in the face of the darkest bits of the 'verse as they surround her.

"I'll fight for you, too," he reminds her, leaning down to kiss her before scooping her back up in his arms, pulling her thighs around his hips. "Always."

She grins at that, lets him carry her back to bed and lay her down gently, tucking the blanket around her and stroking the hair from her temple. He's grateful. _So_ grateful. Both for her and that she's allowed him this, to reclaim a bit of himself by treating her how she ought to be treated. Because before… that wasn't him. It might have been his body, but it wasn't his will and that both sickens and terrifies him.

"Get some sleep," he tells her softly, kissing her temple and stroking a line down her neck over the garish hickey he'd sucked into her skin. "I'll be back in a bit."

"K'," she yawns, curling up on her side before murmuring the rest. "Love you."

"I love you, too," he tells her, but he's fairly sure she's asleep before he even gets the words out.

Still, he stands and stares at her a moment, struck still by the undeniable truth that everything he wants is right in front of him. He _has_ it. Against all odds. Now, he just has to figure out how not to screw it up.

For that, he needs Sara. At least to start with. He has no idea what else they'll need, but it surely starts with Sara.

He leaves the room quietly, making sure to ease the door shut and lock it behind him as silently as he can. Sara's room is just two over from his and Felicity's and he has virtually no time to think over what he's going to say before he's knocking on her door.

Truthfully, he doesn't even stop to consider that she might still be asleep. It _is_ early. But ultimately, she answers the door after just a moment, clad in typical workout clothes and wearing an expression he can't quite read.

"Do you know what I use as an alarm clock, Oliver?" she asks him instead of a greeting.

"Uh… an actual alarm clock?" he ventures, wondering if this is some kind of riddle or something.

"Yes," she says brightly. "An actual alarm clock. Not someone's headboard slamming into the wall repeatedly while they have what is undoubtedly very energetic morning sex."

Oliver blinks back at her for a moment while his brain tries to come up with some sort of coherent response. He only sort of succeeds.

"We're _two rooms over_ ," he stresses.

"Yeah," Sara agrees. "Imagine how thrilled Digg is with you at the moment seeing as you guys share a _wall_."

Oh man… there's a thought.

"I'm… sorry," Oliver winces.

"Save it for Digg," Sara says, pushing the door open further and gesturing that he can come in. "And Mal, for that matter. He's on the other side of your room. But with the noise you guys were making I wouldn't be surprised if the whole building was intimately familiar with precisely how loud your girl can be."

Oliver lets out a pained sigh and flinches a little, his lips tightening in a grim line and his brow furrowing. It's bad enough that he didn't feel like himself when he'd been with Felicity, but the idea that it was considerably more public than he'd like… that's worse.

"Don't get me wrong, Ollie," Sara continues, crossing her arms and looking up at him with a skeptical eye. "I never had any complaints, but that racket was something else entirely."

"This is sort of about that," Oliver tells her.

"Oliver… don't take this the wrong way, but I already know way more about your current sex life than I wanted to," Sara deadpans with complete incredulity.

"Not like…" Oliver huffs, rethinking his words. "That's not what I meant. I need to talk to you about the water."

Sara freezes at that, eyes him in a wholly different way that has a whole lot less teasing involved.

"You're still feeling the bloodlust?" she asks, radiating caution and falling back a step in an innately defensive move.

"It's… not exactly that," he qualifies. "I mean, it is. It starts that way. It creeps back in and I want to… the things I want to do to Nikita… I've done a lot of brutal things, Sara. But I've never enjoyed it. This… I want to tear him to pieces and _smile_ while I do it. I want to savor it. And it builds up until I just… I can't think of anything else except…"

"Except torturing and killing him?" Sara asks her earlier hesitance giving way to curiosity.

"That... or being with Felicity," he admits.

Sara raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"As murder deterrents go, it seems like Felicity sort of lucked out," she notes glibly.

"No," Oliver says, shaking his head firmly. "It's not… It's not _me_ , Sara. I'm not myself when I'm like that. And I just…"

He huffs, his breath heavy with frustration, and runs his hands through his hair. This is hard to explain to anyone, but it's doubly strange to be having this conversation with Sara, with whom sex has often just been about release and pent up frustration.

"I just need this to end," he settles on, because that's the simplest explanation. "I need the water out of my system. That's all. How do I do that?"

"Ollie…" Sara says in a tone that terrifies him more than a little. "I have no idea."

"What do you mean you have no idea?" he asks, brow knit in concern and words coming out in a rush of air.

"I mean _I have no idea_ ," Sara tells him. "Very few people have used the water. Most were near death and all of them were already murderously crazy. They didn't have a problem with the bloodlust and I've never even heard a myth about the bloodlust transitioning it flat out lust. You're in uncharted waters, Ollie."

This is, quite frankly, the very last thing Oliver could have wanted to hear. But his mind, so recently reclaimed as his own, is working overtime while he has a grip on his sanity and he's not about to give up now.

"Nyssa gave it to you," he remembers.

"Yes…" Sara agrees. "But not to use. She wanted me to see if I could find some kind of shaman or mystic who could cleanse it, make its effects less harmful."

"And did you find anyone?" Oliver asks, grasping at straws.

"If I had, I'd have already told you," Sara points out. "The waters absorb a bit of the soul of everyone who uses them and those bits work their way into everyone who uses it after. At least that's what the legends say. You have a lot of fragments of brutal, powerful, terrifying men living in your blood right now, Oliver. And I don't know how to get them out."

The wheels in Oliver's head spin at a blinding pace as he processes her words. And amazingly - miraculously, even - he thinks he might have a glimmer of hope.

"Thank you, Sara," he says, gripping her hand in a white-knuckled clasp of fingers before turning toward the oor.

"Ollie, what-"

"I need to go see Anatoly and we have to get out of here," Oliver tells her. "And then… I need to call in a favor."


	36. Chapter 36

"You know I'm on board with our mission, Oliver, but if your room on Verdant isn't soundproofed, I quit."

Oliver winces at the voice before turning to see the hulking form of his first mate standing down the hall with his arms crossed and a grim line to his displeased brow. He'd expected this. He just hadn't expected it _now_.

"Digg…" Oliver greets, feeling a _little_ bit like he's sixteen again and has just been busted by his mother sneaking back into the house reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume at some ungodly predawn hour. Only, this time he actually has the sense to feel bad about it.

This isn't that, though. He's not that person anymore. He knows that. Digg knows that. Hell, the whole 'verse knows it. But that doesn't mean he isn't ashamed at how he treated Felicity this morning. Even if _she_ doesn't object. He does. Being with her like that… it reminds him too much of who he was before. Selfish and focused entirely on his own needs. She deserves better than that.

"I love that girl like she's my own sister, Oliver, and there are just some things I never in my life wanted to hear out of her mouth," Digg berates. "You got me?"

"Yeah," Oliver agrees, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

" _You got me_?" Digg asks again, his voice heavy with emphasis and his gaze piercing.

"I got you," Oliver agrees, looking him in the eye. "I'm not… It wasn't…"

"Oliver, however you're planning on finishing that sentence - _don't_ ," Digg tells him. "I already know way more than I wanted to about what it was and wasn't. I'm glad you two have gotten your act together and that you're both happy, but man… I really don't want details."

"That's not where I was going with that," Oliver says with no small measure of annoyance.

But… yeah, maybe expecting Digg to realize that he's not exactly in his right mind at the moment is a bit much. They're just usually so in tune, usually have each other's back without needing to say anything, that it surprises him to find that for once Digg isn't seeing the danger right in front of him.

"Believe me, I'd much rather you didn't know that much of our business either," Oliver says with a sheepish curl to his lips as he runs one hand through his hair.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and suggest you learn how to have sex more quietly then," Digg deadpans.

Oliver sighs and flinches a little, glancing to his toes before looking back up at Digg. He has to tell the other man what's going on. He _has_ to. But that doesn't mean he likes it.

"I'm not… recovered yet," Oliver ventures.

Digg's eyes narrow, the lack of context serving only to confuse him.

"From the waters, I mean," Oliver continues. "It's… I can feel it in my veins. And it pulls at me, makes things more… I don't know… extreme, I guess. It's not there all the time, but when it is… Digg, it's like it floods my mind, dilutes who I am and takes over."

The stern, berating look falls away from Digg's face and a curtain of concern pulls across his features.

"Is Felicity-"

"She's fine," Oliver interrupts, taking the edge off of Digg's sudden, fierce surge of fear. "Sleeping, I hope. But, John… this scares the hell out of me."

"That's what earlier was about?" Digg asks, closing in on Oliver and looking every bit as on edge as he should given the situation.

Frankly, Oliver's glad to see the other man on edge, ready to protect or attack as necessary. It's a relief. He doesn't trust himself right now. He's grateful Digg doesn't either.

"It wants me to kill Nikita and the others. When I don't…"

"When you don't then _what_ , Oliver?" Digg asks, muscles coiled and face wary.

"Then the waters want _her_ ," Oliver admits.

"If you hurt her, Oliver, I swear to god-"

"I didn't," Oliver snaps, the very notion chilling something to his core. "I wouldn't. You don't need to threaten me over that, John. If I hurt her, you wouldn't have to do anything to me. I'd do it myself. But that's not what the water wants from her anyhow."

"So this magic water you poured on your leg, it makes you want to kill someone or sleep with Felicity?" Digg asks, his voice dripping with skepticism.

"It's more than that," Oliver elaborates. "It's primal. Something instinctive. It doesn't just want me to sleep with Felicity. It's… possessive. It wants me to claim her. Completely. In any way I can."

"So the Lazarus Pit waters turn you into a stereotypical caveman, basically?" Digg questions.

It's not the worst comparison in the world, but Oliver still hates it. Because it's not _him_. It's the waters. He's a bystander in his own mind when its influence is at its worst. He loves Felicity, cherishes her _and_ her independence. He wants her to be with him, but he's never wanted her to _belong_ to him. Not in the way the waters demand.

"That's as good a description as any of the waters," Oliver says.

"You've gotta stop with this third-person thing, Oliver," Digg shakes his head. "'The waters,' 'the Arrow,' 'the Hood,' 'Ollie,' 'Oliver Queen'... it's all _you_. If you think this is some kind of alien life force possessing you, making you act like someone you're not, I think you're kidding yourself."

"I'm not like that," Oliver bristles, very much disliking Digg's implications.

But Digg isn't about to concede his point.

"No?" he asks. "How many times have you put that ring on her finger now?"

"That has never been about claiming her, John," Oliver counters. "Not _once_."

"Sure it has," John tells him. "In the same way that it's been about you wanting her to claim you right back. So maybe these waters dial back your restraint and make your judgement murky, but you can't tell me that it's not all _you_ underneath that. I know there's a big part of you that wants Nikita to bleed and I have no doubt that Felicity being in danger has heightened how much you want to hold onto her. Your reason and self-control might be compromised, but I don't believe for a second that it's not still all you."

That notion is haunting, it slides beneath his skin and sinks into his bones leaving a chill that slices through him in its wake. John is rarely wrong. And as much as Oliver would like to insist that this time he is, this time he doesn't get it… he knows better. The darker parts of Oliver's soul, the baser bits that have made people bleed and scream as his shadows swallowed them whole, he's tried for years to bury those sides of himself.

But buried things have a way of surfacing when it's least convenient.

"Whatever you want to call it, we need to get this water out of my system," Oliver says after a moment. "Even if it is just a lack of reasoning skills and control, those are things I need."

"Okay," Digg nods, mercifully choosing not to push. "So how do we do that?"

"I've got an idea or two," Oliver tells him. "But first we need to get off this damned planet."

"I'm all for that," Digg agrees. "And it might not hurt to put some distance between you and Nikita."

Maybe. Maybe not. Oliver's not sure on that one. It's entirely possible that the further he gets from the would-be usurpers, the more the waters will pull at him to come back. But that's a concern for later. Ultimately, they have to leave. And sooner would be significantly better than later.

"I'm gonna go find Anatoly… see if our ship is ready to go," Oliver announces before hesitating, shuffling his feet slightly and looking back at Digg. "John, if you could-"

'I'll keep an eye out here," he agrees, practically reading Oliver's mind and cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Thank you," Oliver breathes out as relief washes over him. "We have no way of knowing if we really got all the conspirators. I don't want to leave her alone."

He also doesn't trust himself at all right now. He's got a long history of making terrible choices when his judgement is impaired - and quite a few even when it's not - and his faith in Digg far outstrips his belief in himself at the moment.

"I got it," Digg says with a thin smile that easily shows he hears everything Oliver isn't saying. "She won't go anywhere without me and nobody is going to get past me. Go see Anatoly. No offense, Oliver, but if we don't visit the Bratva again anytime soon, I'm more than okay with that."

Truth be told, he is, too.

The constant strategizing and machinations of the Russian mob are exhausting and they distract from his mission. He trusts next to no one here and he longs for the security of his ship and his crew and the open sky.

"It's a plan," Oliver says, gripping the other man's shoulder tightly in solidarity before moving past him.

He trusts Digg like no one else and the waters are calm right now, but it still isn't easy for him to leave Felicity sleeping in their room by herself. The pull toward her is ever-present but it feels especially strong after last night, after this morning. He wants to watch over her, to see with his own eyes that she's okay, to be there when she wakes so he can tell her he's sorry and he loves her and he'll find a way to fix this.

But this is _how_ he fixes it.

It's the first step, anyhow.

And the faster he can get them off this planet, the faster he can drain the waters from his soul and the safer she'll be. That's the plan, anyhow, and he's going to see it through. So, he lets his feet walk the familiar path toward Anatoly's office.

He'll be there. Oliver has no doubt. To the others, Anatoly might seem a wild card, unpredictable and bold. But Oliver knows better. The mobster might be brash and authoritative, but he's also a creature of superstition and habit. Whether that was true _before_ Lian Yu, Oliver has no idea. Maybe it's something borne of the daily fight for survival. But regardless, Oliver knows with certainty where to find him now.

And he's not wrong.

The door to the Pakhan's office is wide open - an anomaly for sure - and it leaves Oliver wondering if maybe he's just as predictable to Anatoly as Anatoly is to him. In some ways, their mutual stay in purgatory has given them a unique understanding of each other, the likes of which he sees shades of only in Sara and Slade. Lian Yu _does_ something to people, works a sliver of darkness into people's souls even if the Reavers don't get them. And he's not sure that's a mark that will ever fade away.

Maybe River had been right all those weeks ago when she said he'd left but a piece of him had stayed behind. Maybe all of them had. Maybe darkness had carved out a home for itself in his being way before the waters ever touched him had done the same to Anatoly, to Sara, to Slade. Maybe it shifted them all the same way, making them creatures of survival first and a person second.

Or maybe his head's just in a weird space today and he's thinking entirely too much about this.

"Oliver! Come in," Anatoly says, his voice booming and his gestures broad and intentionally distracting as he stands. "I have been expecting you, my friend."

Something itches under Oliver's skin and he surveys the room as he enters it like he's looking for threats. There's none, save perhaps for Anatoly himself, but that doesn't put Oliver at ease. There's little that could right now. Because, quite frankly, the greatest threat is inside him. He knows it. And that _terrifies_ him.

"It is good to see you up and about," Anatoly assures with a lightness to his voice that Oliver doesn't quite buy. "You are feeling well?"

The question is a loaded one. And Oliver instantly recognizes it for the well-placed concern that it is. Anatoly doesn't trust him. Not now. Not after he used the waters. And he hasn't stepped from around the desk. There's a gun beneath it, a hand's reach away. He's sure of it. And - friend or not - Anatoly is more than ready to shoot him if the rumors he's heard about the waters prove true.

Oddly, there's something reassuring about that.

"My leg is as good as new," Oliver tells him, wholly sidestepping the greater issue at hand.

"This is good," Anatoly nods, watching him with calculating eyes. "I have heard whispers of the waters you used, you realize? They are the stuff of legends… or of nightmares, depending on who you speak with."

"If you're asking if I want to kill Nikita, the answer is definitely yes," Oliver replies. "But that would have been true without the waters, too. Murderous impulses aren't exactly new to me. I'm used to controlling it."

He's downplaying things for sure, but that's decidedly in his best interests at the moment. And he's pretty sure he's not fooling Anatoly anyhow.

The mobster nods, takes his seat and gestures for Oliver to do the same, but he doesn't relax at all.

"I have many uses for a man with that skill set, Oliver," Anatoly points out. "If you are looking to step back into the fold, you need only say so."

"No," Oliver says immediately. "We both know I don't belong here, Anatoly."

"Is a pity," Anatoly says, pursing his lips as he tilts his head appraisingly. "There are answers I need from Nikita. I think perhaps no one could extract them from him as you could."

And that… that wakes something inside Oliver that he'd much prefer stay sleeping. The very _idea_ of it is so enticing that it makes him jolt. He can _see_ it. Nikita bleeding in front of him, writhing in pain that he only relieves because he knows it will be so much worse when he hurts him anew. The image calls to him, pulls at him, makes his mouth water in anticipation. But he shakes it off. He blinks it away with a huff of controlled breath as he reminds himself that despite all indications to the contrary, that's not actually what he wants.

"As appealing as that is, my crew needs me," Oliver forces out. "And we've taken advantage of your hospitality long enough."

He hides it well, but Anatoly is surprised by Oliver's response. He'd been expecting his interrogator back. He'd been counting on the waters pulling at Oliver enough that he'd cave, drown himself in Nikita's blood and secrets. But Oliver has more than the waters fighting for his soul. Felicity, Digg, Thea, Sara - even Mal and his crew - they all buoy him, keep him afloat and refuse to let him drown.

"I will leave Nikita in Sasha's hands then," Anatoly announces, which honestly makes Oliver twitch. "You and your crew always have a home here, Oliver. You know this. There is no hospitality to be taken advantage of in your own home. But, as you say, you have your crew that needs you and I know how the stars call you to them."

"Thank you," Oliver manages, ignoring the notion that _Sasha_ \- of all people - is the one who gets to spill Nikita's blood. It grates at him in a way that it really shouldn't. But he's always hated Sasha and he can't help but be jealous that the other man will get to be the one to make Nikita scream.

He really needs to get away from this planet.

"Are the repairs done?" Oliver asks, concentrating on focusing on the issues that actually need his attention. "We'd like to leave today if we can."

"They are," Anatoly nods. "Your engineer - the little one with the overalls, not your woman - she's going over the repairs now. But I think she will be satisfied with what she finds. My repairmen are very good."

"As long as none of them were actually working for Nikita," Oliver says dryly.

"Nikita would not prize such men. He does not understand the value of men who are not like him," Anatoly points out. "There is a reason his supporters at Sasha's home were all stupider than him with slightly worse aim. He does not tolerate being one-upped. It is a fault of many men, who cannot value those with differences from themselves."

"And one of the reasons you're an excellent Pakhan," Oliver acknowledges.

"An enforcer is important, but so is an engineer, a surgeon," Anatoly tells him. "These are not interchangeable men. Any of them might save your life. A surgeon should not be dismissed because he cannot shoot any more than a bodyguard should be dismissed because he cannot stitch your wounds. This is something Nikita has never understood. No… he will not have had any men working on your ship. He does not plot well enough for that."

"You'll understand if I say I'm going to be a whole lot more comfortable after Kaylee gives it the all-clear," Oliver tells him.

"It is important to have people you trust in your employ," Anatoly agrees as he obviously mulls over how to say something. "I am going to have to rely greatly on Sasha in the near future. WIth you gone, I have no better interrogator."

"Glad you have a use for him," Oliver manages, suddenly even more on edge and trying to see precisely where Anatoly is going with this line of thought.

"It is hard to retain the loyalty of a man whose wife you have given your blessing to leave him," Anatoly says finally.

Oliver sits stock straight and freezes at that as the implications rolls through him.

"You promised me that Alina could leave with us," Oliver reminds him, his voice heavy and threatening.

"And you promised me widows, Oliver," Anatoly points out.

"I could still make you some," Oliver grits out. "But Ally is leaving with us."

"Oliver…" Anatoly shakes his head. "This _girl_. She is nothing, unremarkable. You do not love her. She isn't useful to you. She has no skills to use in your crew. Why make a big deal out of this?"

"Because she's nothing _here_ ," Oliver replies immediately. "Because she's trapped and alone and hopeless. She deserves better than this. You made a deal with me Anatoly. Ally's coming with us. I'm not leaving her behind. Not this time. I made that mistake once. I'm not doing it again."

"She has my favor for her loyalty," Anatoly counters. "This is no small thing. Had she not come to you when Nikita acted… things might have gone very differently. I will not forget that. I can make things better for her here."

"But she'd still be _here_ ," Oliver points out. "If you want to reward her loyalty, let her _go_ , let her be free."

Anatoly grunts and shakes his head, looking down at his desk like there might be some kind of answer written before him.

"You make things difficult on me, Oliver," he says after a moment. "I do not understand why you fight for this woman."

"Because she needs fighting for," Oliver replies immediately without having to think about it at all.

It really is exactly as simple as that.

"Fine," Anatoly relents. "I gave my word and I will keep it, as difficult as that will make things with Sasha."

"If he's your current right-hand man, his position is rising at the moment," Oliver points out. "With him newly single there will be plenty of social climbing Bratva daughters happy to take Ally's place. Any one of them would be more suited for a spot at his side than Alina, who has never had any desire to be there."

"Perhaps," Anatoly agrees. "And perhaps in time Sasha will accept this as something for his benefit. But he is a jealous, possessive man. I cannot see him taking well to losing his wife, even if he appears not to care much for her."

Oliver finds he really doesn't care about this at all, but he says nothing. That's okay because it doesn't seem like Anatoly is waiting for any kind of an answer anyhow. And, regardless, they're interrupted by a squeak of a voice near the still-open door.

"Sorry 'bout… well, I'd say interruptin' but the door _is_ open an' all, so maybe it ain't exactly requirin' an apology so much."

"Kaylee," Oliver says, turning so he can see the engineer lingering in the threshold to Anatoly's office. "How'd the inspection go?"

"Fit as a fiddle, cap'n," she replies cheerily. "Better than new, even. She's real shiny. You're gonna be happy with her."

"I want to be clear about this, Kaylee… you checked out _everything_?" Oliver asks.

"Course I did," Kaylee says, looking a touch affronted. "I ain't gonna leave nothin' to chance, cap'n."

And, indeed, Kaylee has bits of oil and coolant and transmission fluid all over her. There's plenty of evidence she's done a thorough job. But, in Oliver's experience, a little paranoia isn't exactly misplaced.

"See?" Anatoly asks. "I told you this. My repairmen, they are excellent and none of them loyal to Nikita."

"We can leave anytime, cap'n," Kaylee tells him. "Got the new core for Serenity on board already an' everything. Restocked supplies, too. An' while we were at it, we converted two storage rooms to temporary livin' quarters. They're small, but we figured we ain't got room for everybody as it is. An' takin' Alina on, she might want somewhere to lie her head."

It's a good idea. To be honest, Oliver hadn't given much thought to precisely how overcrowded their ship has become. Taking Ally on board was going to be taxing enough, but given his current mental state and the likelihood that they'd need to take on at least one more person in the near future to help with his struggles against the influence of the waters, Verdant was definitely well past capacity.

"It's a good idea," Oliver agrees. "Thank you, Kaylee. Would you go let Digg and Mal know? Have everyone pack their things if they haven't already."

"Will do!" Kaylee agrees with a chipper tone before turning and flouncing out the door in the general direction of the wing the extended Verdant crew has taken over.

"This is goodbye, then," Anatoly says, rising and extending his hand toward Oliver.

"For now," Oliver agrees, standing and grasping the man's hand firmly. "I do appreciate everything you've done for us, Anatoly. We wouldn't have made it if not for your help."

"This is what one does for family, Oliver," Anatoly dismisses. "And it has worked out well for the both of us, no?"

"It has," Oliver agrees. "But thank you all the same."

He turns to go, but Anatoly's voice calls his attention back as he steps toward the open door.

"Oliver… we have not truly discussed this, but your Felicity…" Anatoly ventures.

He tenses, bristles in a guarded way as he worries over the mobster's attention turning toward her.

"What about her?" Oliver asks, tense and obviously on edge.

"It is nothing of concern," Anatoly says, shaking his head and smiling slightly. "You needn't worry. It is just… I am glad for you, my friend. My Inessa, she used to look at me as your Felicity looks at you, like even the rougher edges were worth loving. It does my old heart good to see that kind of partner for you. Cherish her. Every day. And do not let her go for anything. That kind of love, it comes but once a lifetime to those of us who are lucky enough to find it."

Oliver had never met Anatoly's wife. She'd died before he'd ever wound up on Lian Yu. But looking at the mobster now, he can see shades of her influence on the man. There's a sadness that's etched into his features that even long-borne acceptance of the loss hasn't managed to erode.

"We'll invite you to the wedding," he says after a moment, an agreement on every level.

"See that you do," Anatoly nods.

Oliver tries not to think about that as he leaves the room and heads back to their wing, to Felicity. Not the notion of a wedding, of course. He'd marry her tomorrow if she'd have him and if he could say with certainty that he was in his right mind. No, it's that slightly haunted look that took over Anatoly's face that sits poorly with him. He would be like that if he lost her. He would be worse. He might exist without her, but he wouldn't live. Not at this point. He knows that, feels it as deeply as he's ever felt anything. And it's that, more than anything else, that drives him to focus on fixing whatever it is the waters have done to him.

He needs to know she's safe with him and she deserves better than a man who loves her but is sometimes overwhelmed by the basest of instincts.

Felicity is still sleeping when he gets back to their wing. He knows that immediately upon seeing John leaning against the wall outside their door.

"We good to leave?" Digg asks as he closes in.

"Yeah," Oliver tells him. "Just as soon as everyone is ready."

"You gonna wake her?" Digg asks.

"Not yet," Oliver tells him. "Let her sleep. I have something else I need to do first."

Oliver glances down the hall, eyes fixed on a doorway toward the end.

"What's going on?" Digg asks, curious and wary.

"Nothing," Oliver says, trying to sound dismissive and failing horribly. "I just need to talk to Simon. That's all. I'll be back in a moment to finish packing up our things and wake her up. Thank you for keeping an eye out."

"Anytime, Oliver," Digg counters. "That's my job. You know that."

"All the same…" Oliver replies, his eyes earnest and genuine. "I appreciate it, Digg."

Digg gives a little nod as Oliver walks past him, heads toward a room down the hall and knocks solidly. It takes a moment, a bit of shuffling before the door creaks open a sliver and Oliver looks down to find River staring up at him through the crack with too-insightful eyes.

"Your edge is dulled," she says in a floaty voice with a fixed gaze and her face half-hidden by the doorframe.

"It's just as well," he tells her, communicating on the strange other-worldly level the girl often seems to have. "Sharp things tend to cut the people holding them when they aren't careful."

She nods, eyebrows raising in agreement as a little smile works its way across her face as she holds the door open wider.

"It's smarter to just stop touching the blade," she tells him sagely before turning toward the room behind her. "Simon, you have a visitor."

The doctor wanders out from the bathroom, still drying his hands with a towel as his sister brushes past Oliver out into the hall, leaving Oliver blinking back toward her and trying to figure out - momentarily - precisely how the brilliant, crazy woman's mind works. It's probably better that he can't.

"Captain, what can I do for you?" Simon asks, pulling his attention back.

"Doctor," Oliver nods, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. "We'll be leaving shortly. And I'm going to have to ask you for a favor..."

* * *

Felicity stretches languidly before she's even fully awake. Her body is sore in the best possible way and she's rested and happy, if a little bit worried about Oliver.

They have to find a way to help him regain his sense of control. Obviously enthusiastic, somewhat possessive sex on a regular basis isn't the best coping strategy ever. But… well, it's not like it's the _worst_ strategy either, right? She's definitely not complaining. But she also understands that Oliver can't quite stand feeling out of control. That he's terrified and unhappy with himself. And she doesn't want that for him. At all. So… yeah, this problem needs fixing.

"Hey," she says, rolling onto her side and watching as Oliver pulls some clothes out of a drawer and puts it in a suitcase. "I take it things went well?"

"I was trying not to wake you," he says, abandoning the suitcase to cross the room and settle on the bed next to her, leaning down for a quick kiss. "The ship's ready. We'll go as soon as everyone's packed up."

"Oh! That's great!" Felicity says happily. "It'll be good to get back to our own room."

"Does that mean you're moving back in with me?" Oliver asks, smiling down at her with sheer adoration that makes her melt a little.

"What are you-" she starts before she thinks things through and cuts herself off. "Huh… I guess I _had_ moved out. It's been so long I'd actually forgotten."

"So you're done bunking with Sara?" Oliver questions, clearly already knowing the answer.

"I dunno…. she's a really good roommate," Felicity muses with a light tone as she taps her chin. "She _never_ leaves wet towels on the bed."

"That might be true, but she's a terrible cuddler," Oliver points out, leaning down and kissing her again. "And you, my love, are a _cuddler_."

"You make a surprisingly valid point," she grins against his lips.

"So you'll come back?" Oliver asks, pulling back slightly and stroking the side of her face with naked affection.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be," she assures him, leaning into his hand.

" _Good_ ," he says heavily. "Now we just need to fix this thing with the water and figure out who's after the alpha-omega."

"Well as long as we have some kind of agenda," Felicity replies, pursing her lips as though she's thinking very deeply. "I was worried we might get bored."

"With our life? Unlikely," Oliver laughs.

She loves the sound of that. Both his laugh and him using the term _our life_. It would be impossible to say which thrilled her more. But there is a more sobering thought to it all. As much as they might both be making light of their 'agenda,' it's more serious than that.

"So… we have a plan then?" she asks.

Strangely, unexpectedly, he tenses at that. She knows him well enough to be more than a little concerned at the way he suddenly kisses her shoulder instead of looking her in the eye.

" _Oliver_?" she asks worriedly, scooting back so she can sit up.

"We do have a plan," he tells her. "I'll… tell you about it once we're away from here. Okay?"

"Why am I suddenly _super_ concerned about your plan?" She asks, anxiety leaking out of her voice with every word.

"You don't need to be," he reassures her, leaning to kiss her bare shoulder again. "I promise."

Two hours later, she's going to be reminded quite thoroughly that their definitions of concern are vastly different.


	37. Chapter 37

As much as he knows they need to get the hell away from the Bratva as soon as possible, Oliver can't in good conscience let Verdant take to the sky without thoroughly inspecting her first. He trusts Kaylee. Actually, his faith in her is surprising when he considers how briefly he's really known the young engineer. But Verdant is _his_ and he's not about to be foolhardy with the lives of his crew.

Even under the influence of the Lazarus Pit, he's a better captain than that.

There's no denying that he's functioning on borrowed time, though. The waters are calm in his mind for the moment, but they're there. Little things make them ripple, like a rock skipping across a placid pond. Jayne says something that irks him or River babbles in a frustratingly nonsensical way or Felicity stretches to inspect something in the ship's wiring leaving his gaze lingering on the swell of her hips. Ripples grow then, spread throughout his mind and threaten to cause waves. How long he's got before the waters crest and pull him under in their riptide is anyone's guess, but it's coming.

He knows it.

"We're good," Oliver says into the comms after a final look-through over the rebuilt area and Felicity's nod of approval. "Get us out of here, Digg."

"With pleasure," Digg responds as the engines rumble to life.

Everything looks perfect. Everything _seems_ normal, too, but neither Oliver nor Felicity release the breaths they're holding until the ship breaks atmosphere and they hear the pressurization and life support systems kick on. There's no hiss of air escaping the ship. No alarms sound. The ship's repairs, at any rate, seem to have gone according to plan.

If only he were as easy to fix as his ship.

"Maybe it will be better once we're away from the Bratva," Felicity says, as if reading his mind. "Put a little distance between you and the people making you go all ' _grr_.'"

She's trying to be helpful, but the comforting hand stroking down his upper arms _really_ isn't doing anything to help keep the waters at bay. Quite the opposite, actually, which is something she clearly realizes as she lets out a soft " _oh_ " after he slams his eyes shut and tries to ground himself.

"Oliver, are you already-"

"I'm fine," he cuts her off, shaking his head for a moment before opening his eyes and taking a steadying breath while he forces a smile that he doesn't feel.

The look on her face screams that he's not fooling anyone. Her lips are thinned and her eyebrows raised so that her brow furrows in little lines that are frankly adorable.

"Really," he protests, meaning it a little more this time around. "I'm not back to normal or anything, but I'm also not…"

He can't quite finish that dire thought, but she has no such qualms.

"Uncontrollably homicidal?" she offers.

He flinches, both at the words and the casual way she says them.

"It would be a bad idea to put me in a room with Nikita, but for now I think we're safe," he promises. "There's no one here that I have an urge to put an arrow in."

"Well, let me know when that changes, okay?" she asks, her hands resting against his pecs as she looks up at him. "We can manage this. I just need you to tell me what's going on."

 _When_ , she'd said. Not _if_. And with that one little word, he's painfully aware that for all her optimism, she's fully conscious of exactly how bad all of this really is. She doesn't even realize her own slip up. He's grateful for that, though. She'd be upset if she knew, would think she'd somehow let him down.

As if she could.

"I don't want you to worry about that," he tells her, touching her hair gently with tremendous self-awareness and restraint.

"I'm not _worried_ ," she clarifies, looking up at him and shaking her head with a little smile gracing her lips. "I just want to be ready. If it's still a problem… okay. We can deal with this. Together. I just need you to keep me in the loop. That's all."

"If I need your help, I'll let you know," he assures her.

It's true. He will. As a very last resort, but he's banking on not needing her help at this point. He won't keep doing this to her. He _can't._ Not if there's an alternative. Still… he's pretty sure she's going to object to his plan and he'd prefer to put off that particular argument until he has all of the pieces in place for what comes next.

"I know you hate this, Oliver," she tells him, sympathy shining in her bright blue eyes. "And because you hate it, I want to fix it, too. But it's not like I'm objecting here. You know that right? I mean, okay, I'm objecting a little to the whole murderous impulses thing, but the frequent sex thing is a very A+ excellent plan in my book."

He shakes his head in response, a thin heart-felt smile tugging at the edges of his lips in spite of the distasteful topic. She can make anything lighter, easier, just by being herself.

"I like that plan, too," he agrees, kissing the top of her head before pulling away and stepping back slightly to force a little distance between them. "I just would like to be _present_ while that happens and with the way things are right now, I'm not."

She watches him for a moment, clearly soaking in his words, trying to absorb what he's feeling. It's hard for him to explain. He's present even when the waters are at their worst, but his control is completely absent. His _will_ is gone. He'd like nothing more than to spend the next few hours tangled up in his own sheets with Felicity, but he wants to really _be_ there. Anything else is a poor substitute.

"Okay," she agrees, nodding and purposefully maintaining the distance between them as she leans back against a nearby bulkhead. "You had a plan to fix this, right?"

It's less of a plan and more of a Hail Mary to the end zone, but he's not going to tell her that at this point. It's not like he's got much a backup plan if this fails and he'd prefer she not worry more than she already is.

"There's someone who owes me a favor," Oliver allows, "from back on Lian Yu."

"Is she ridiculously beautiful?" Felicity asks with a raised eyebrow. "Because I'm starting to wonder if some ship full of Miss Alliance pageant contestants crashed near you."

Her tone is dry and a little clipped. Even though she's kidding, he can't help but enjoy the idea that she's actually _jealous_.

" _He_ is a little masculine for my taste, but I suppose he's alright," Oliver replies with obvious amusement shading his voice. "A bit rough around the edges for a Miss Alliance pageant, but he'd kill the talent competition so maybe that makes up for the scruff and the chain smoking."

Felicity pauses at that, looking like she's not completely certain how to process this information and rework the mental image she'd clearly already built up in her head.

"He's not smoking on this ship," she says finally. "Do you have any idea how much that could mess up my computers? Not to mention the air filtration system-"

"Honey, we don't have a choice," Oliver points out. "We need him."

" _Why_?" Felicity asks. "Does he have like magical superpowers over water or something?"

"Uhh…." Oliver responds, in a fantastic display of his inability to answer that question with anything that's both accurate and doesn't make him sound even more out of his mind than he actually is.

"He does not have magical superpowers over water," Felicity insists a moment later, incredulity reaching previously unseen levels.

"Not water, no," Oliver agrees.

"Oliver…" she replies with guarded hesitance.

"We've both seen things we can't explain, Felicity," Oliver points out. "After the particle accelerator overloaded in Central System's star, people came out of the woodwork with all kinds of abilities."

"That was _science_ ," she points out. "That was because of increased radiation in the solar winds after the explosion made solar flares go all wonky."

"Wonky is scientific?" Oliver questions, tilting his head in amusement as he watches her.

"I'm sure there's a very sciency word for what happened, but astrophysics isn't exactly my area of specialty," Felicity reminds him. "More to the point, though, if you knew this guy on Lian Yu, you knew him _before_ the Central System explosion."

"Yes," Oliver agrees. "I saw a lot of things on Lian Yu that I can't explain, but that doesn't make them less real. John has… abilities. Magic. I don't know how to describe it. He's in tune with _something._ If anyone can help me, it's him."

She's skeptical. That's not a surprise, really. Felicity's first instinct will always be to look for facts. But, even without them, she'll trust _him_. So it's also not a surprise when she makes the choice to take everything he's saying at face value.

"Okay," she agrees. "We'll track him down and see what he can do. Where do we find this John…?"

"Constantine," Oliver finishes for her. "John Constantine. He's a bit of a drifter. My guess is we'll find him in the dingiest part of the inhabited 'verse."

"Charming," Felicity replies shaking her head. "So… back out to the rim then?"

"Most likely," Oliver agrees. "I've got a few channels I can go through to find him. For now, let's just put some distance between us and the Bratva."

"That's a _very_ good idea," Felicity agrees. "Is there anything we need to do in the meantime? Or are we just aimlessly moving to anywhere not controlled by the Russian mob. Or, actually… the Italian mob either. I'd prefer to avoid them, too."

And _oh wow_ the thought of the Italian mob actually sends Oliver stumbling backwards as he tries to keep control. If Nikita makes him murderous, the thought of the Bertinellis makes him want to lay waste to whole planets just to get his hands around Helena's neck.

It makes sense. Or it will when he thinks about it with a clearer head. After all, she's the one who gave him the wound that the pit waters healed. It makes sense they would demand her blood in return.

" _Oliver?_ " Felicity's voice is far away, but it breaks through the haze that's quite suddenly clouded his vision. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I'm okay," he tells her, blinking back the rage, pushing the waters back down. "I wasn't expecting that yet. I've got it under control."

"Are you _sure?"_ she asks.

There's worry in her voice, but it's worry for him and that will never not throw him. She's not scared for herself or for the crew, but she's deeply concerned about his well-being.

"Yes," he confirms. "I'm sure. The pull isn't that strong yet. Just the mention of… but she's not here. So maybe distance does help some."

"Good," she murmurs, but the look of concern doesn't fade from her eyes.

"I'm okay," he says again, forcing more certainty into his voice for her benefit. "Away from the Bratva and… the others… That's good, but an actual destination would be better. I'm going to send a few waves, see if I can't track John down. Then I'll check in with Ally, see if she knows where she wants to head. Maybe we can drop her off somewhere while we wait for John."

"Alright," she agrees, looking a little more placated. "I'm going to go move my things into our room."

Somewhat surprisingly, those words calm down the waters even further. There's something about her further entwining her life with his that mollifies the demands of the Lazarus Pit, buries any current far beneath the surface. It's an affirmation that she's going nowhere, that she's _his_. And it's this, more than anything else, that makes him wonder if Digg wasn't right. For all of Sara's talk about the shards of damaged souls carving out a home in his mind, he can't imagine why any of the men healed by the Lazarus Pit would have any particularly interest in Felicity officially moving in with him. Digg's theory about eroding control and reducing him to base impulses, though… that fits. Disturbingly well. Oliver's not sure he likes what that says about him.

"Mind if I rearrange some things?" she asks, pulling him back to the here and now, grounding him with her presence.

"You can do anything you want to our room," he advises, wholly meaning it and savoring the way the words ' _our room'_ taste on his tongue.

"It's possible you'll regret that when you remember the size of my shoe collection," she points out with humor lighting up her eyes.

"I doubt it," he counters, eyes skimming down her body.

Her never-ending collection of heels had drawn his attention right from the very beginning. The way they pull his eyes to her legs, her ass… yeah even before he was ready to admit his attraction to her, he'd been able to acknowledge that he loved what her shoes did for her body. And now that they're a reality, now that she's moving into his room, he can't help the mental image that forms of her in nothing _but_ one of those pairs of heels. He can't help but think about the way she'd dig one of them into his lower back while he-

"We'll see about that," she interrupts teasingly as she leans in and kisses him softly on the cheek.

He breathes in her scent, holds on to the feel of her petal-soft lips on his cheek, and stifles a moan. Distance between him and the Bratva had been an excellent idea. And if he's going to drag out his control as long as possible, a little distance between him and Felicity isn't the worst idea in the world at the moment either.

"We will," he agrees with a strained voice.

"Oliver, if you need me-"

"I know where you'll be," he reminds her, sidestepping her entire point and ignoring the fact that he has no intentions whatsoever of finding her and using her to control himself unless there's literally no other option left.

"Okay," she says, sounding unsure again.

Because she reads him entirely too well.

He squeezes her hand and steps back, a list of things designed to keep him busy - some of them necessary and some of them not - compiling in his mind. It's a small ship and he doesn't know how long he can hold out, but he's determined to test himself, to push those limits and cling to his rational mind as long as he can.

"I'll find you in a bit," he tells her.

And with that she gives him a small smile and heads off, touching her fingers to his until the last possible second.

He still isn't sure what he did to deserve her in his life. But he's grateful, _so_ grateful that she's here. With him. Brightening his life in every possible way.

Lingering on thoughts of her are mostly counterproductive at the moment, though, so he tries to focus on other things. Between crash landing on an unfortunately occupied moon and then spending far too long as a guest of the Russian mob on their main planet, he hasn't actually captained his own ship in a month. There's no shortage of things to do.

His first priority is reaching out to find John, though. It has to be. He's pinning a whole lot of hope on the mystically attuned detective and if they can't track him down or - _worse_ \- he can't help, Oliver doesn't have a great Plan B. That's more than a little terrifying.

Unsurprisingly, none of the waves he sends out over the next hour or so yield immediate results. John's a shifty character, hard to pin down, but this is very much up his alley and honestly Oliver wouldn't have been surprised if John had somehow tracked _him_ down even without being contacted. He seems to have a sixth sense about these things.

But for now, it's a waiting game. And time, it seems, is one of the few things Oliver isn't sure he has.

Checking in with Digg takes less time than Oliver might have expected. Verdant's flying smoothly and Anatoly's men seem to have done as good a job as the mobster had claimed they would. It's clear Digg's happy to be back behind the controls. Wash hangs out nearby, playing co-pilot even though it's not really necessary. Digg seems to get it though, the need to feel the controls beneath his fingertips, to watch the starscape pass them by as they hurtle through space. Oliver gets it too, honestly. He misses the feel of a bowstring between his fingertips with a bone-deep ache that makes him rub his fingertips together.

He adds a trip to the gym to his mental 'to do' list. Target practice and some time on the salmon ladder probably isn't the worst idea he's had all day, both because it's been entirely too long and because working himself to the point of exhaustion is as good a plan for damming back the waters as he's had so far.

Seeing Ally is next on his agenda, but her newly created room is actually right near the gym, so he heads that direction. The two former storerooms that they'd converted into living quarters are both just off the workout area. Neither has its own bathroom, but there's one off of the gym that will suffice. He knows Ally took one of the rooms. Thea took the other. He tells himself this is merely because she needed a place to sleep and not directly related to the fact that Roy is sharing a room with the shepherd.

Denial regarding his baby sister's sex life seems like a really good plan.

Especially at the moment.

"Oliver!"

It's Ally's voice, blessedly breaking through his thoughts about Thea and Roy. Honestly, if he hadn't expected to see her, he might not have recognized her immediately. She's _smiling_ , her whole body at ease as she stands in the doorway of her makeshift room _._ There's a lightness about her that makes her seem younger, freer. The difference is striking.

"How are you settling in?" he asks in greeting, stuffing his hands in his pockets and returning her smile in a more muted way.

"Quite well," she assures him, sounding as happy as he's ever heard.

"I know it's smaller than you're used to," he acknowledges, nodding toward the doorway and thinking back to the size of the storage room.

"It is perfect, Oliver," she counters immediately. "It is my own space. That is all I have ever wanted."

"I'm glad," he tells her.

And he is.

His history with her might be relatively complicated, but he's always liked Ally and wanting better for her than what she's had so far is instinctive. His genuine dislike of Sasha doesn't hurt that feeling either.

"I owe you a great debt that I can never repay," she tells him. "You've changed my entire life. You've _saved_ my life."

"You're changing your life, Ally. I just gave you a ride," Oliver counters.

"We both know this is understating things," she says, levelling him with a knowing look. "I have no doubt that Sasha and Anatoly did not wish to let me go."

Oliver licks his lips and dips his head in agreement. He still thinks she's not giving herself enough credit. She might have fought quietly to change her own life, but she had _fought_. It can't have been an easy thing to leave everything behind, to cut ties with everything and everyone she's ever known. But she'd _done_ it. And, truth be told, he respects her tremendously for it. More than he'd have thought possible years ago.

"Have you had any thoughts about what you might like to do now?" he asks her.

"Too many," she says, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. "The universe is so much larger than it was for me yesterday. I wish to do everything all at once."

Her excitement is infectious and he finds himself smiling wider along with her.

"Well… when you figure out where you'd like to start, just let me know," Oliver tells her.

"Actually," Alina says, looking ever-so-slightly nervous, "I have something of an idea. I do not know if it is feasible, but… Inara believes possibly the Academy might accept me."

"To train as a companion?" Oliver asks in surprise.

"Is this silly?" she asks, sounding both anxious and hopeful about his judgement.

"Not at all," he tells her immediately. "If that's what you want, I think you should go for it. Inara is a fantastic contact."

"It would mean education," she stresses, her voice taking on a dreamy quality at the idea. "I could travel the 'verse, choose my own clients, control my own life. I think this idea appeals to me very much. If you believe it is something I could do."

"You can do anything you put your mind to, Ally," he assures her. "I think you'd make a fantastic companion."

She beams at this, gaze darting down to stare at the ground demurely as her cheeks color with delight. It surprises him how much weight his opinion really has with her, but it's evident that it does. He's a little amazed that even the smallest bit of encouragement and approval means so much. Maybe he shouldn't be, though. He wonders when the last time was that someone told her they believed in her. He wonders if anyone ever has.

"Thank you, Oliver," she says quietly, talking more to her toes than to him.

"It's the truth," he tells her.

"All the same," she begins, "there is no-"

Her voice is cut off abruptly by the sound of laughter as a nearby door opens.

Rationally, he'd known Thea was staying in the nearby room. Also rationally, had he thought about it, he'd had ample evidence that she was sleeping with Roy. But there's absolutely nothing rational about his reaction to seeing his baby sister wearing nothing but her boyfriend's shirt and touching the purse-snatcher-turned-protege with intimate familiarity.

Had Oliver been fully in control over his own reactions to things, he likely would have cringed and grit his teeth as he made thinly-veiled threats toward Roy and told Thea to go put on some clothes.

But he's not in control.

Not even close.

Later, he won't remember exactly what happened next. It will all be a blur of unbridled anger and darkly primal impulses. Even in the moment, he's not entirely certain of what's going on. But what he is aware of is precisely how satisfying it is to close his fingers around Roy's neck and _squeeze._

The noise around him is dull and distant. None of it registers. His focus is solely on the way the windpipe beneath his grip caves inward as he presses down and lifts the man up. Fingers grapple at his hands and someone tugs on his elbow, but all of it to no avail. His vision, blurred and edged in red, sees no further than his whitened fingernails clenching the man's throat.

He wants to hear the man's gurgling last gasp of breath. He wants to feel his windpipe give way entirely, shatter under his tightening grip. He _needs_ it, even if he's not entirely sure why.

It's the only thought in his mind.

Right up until pain throbs intensely in his shoulder.

Whatever jars him - causes that sudden, intense pain shooting down his arm and across his back - is enough to send him sideways a few steps and drop Roy to the ground. The younger man sucks down air in desperate wheezing gulps punctuated by violent coughing. And, before Oliver can take a step back toward him, Thea steps between them with Sara's bo at the ready in her hands.

Thea's grip is strong but her hands are trembling and her eyes are wide with a level of fear and determination he's never seen in her before. And he put it there. It's _his_ fault that she's scared. That will never be okay with him and it's enough for him to break through the surface and hold onto his sense of self. For now. For a moment.

She's scared. His baby sister is scared _of him_.

That realization hits him harder than the blow she'd landed with the staff and he stumbles back a little further as he blinks in dim awareness.

"This isn't you," Thea is saying, her words finally registering in his mind, even if her voice quavers as she speaks. "Ollie, you don't want to hurt Roy. He's your _friend_."

He can't look at Thea. Not with her wearing Roy's shirt. And he can't look at Roy, who is both a reminder that Thea is wearing nothing _but_ a shirt and a very vivid piece of evidence to what he'd nearly done. He looks instead to the side. Ally's there. Poor, sad, powerless Ally. She's on the comm in the corner, looking at him with something like terror as she whispers to someone - probably Digg - and he can't stand that he's done this. To any of them. To Thea or Roy or Ally.

To himself.

Obviously, he'd had less time than he'd thought. He'd had less _control_ than he'd thought. And Roy had very nearly paid the ultimate price for his miscalculation.

"Call Simon," he grits out, falling back further until his back meets a wall and blanketing his face with his hands as the reality of everything washes over him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm _so sorry_."

"It's not your fault," Thea says slowly, still wisely keeping her distance. "Ollie, we know this wasn't you. Roy knows that. And so do I."

Oliver manages to glance up and spy Roy nodding, even though he can't _breathe_ , and he lets out a low pained moan of shame as the unquenchable desire to kill his friend surges in him again. He bats it back, tamps it down, slides down the wall and buries his head in his knees.

"Simon," he says again. "Tell Simon it's time."

Sara and Zoe barrel through the door as he's speaking, both of them fully at the ready for battle. A surge of relief wells up in him even as the waters in his veins scream for blood.

"Simon, get Simon," Oliver repeats, curling in on himself.

"He is coming," Alina says from the other side of the room. "Roy needs him."

"Get Felicity for Oliver," Sara orders, putting herself between Oliver and where Thea has knelt to Roy's side.

"No," Oliver protests firmly, shaking his head as he looks up at Sara.

"I know you aren't thrilled about this, but if she can rein you in…" Sara points out, her voice trailing off at the end.

"I ain't likin' a single thing about this," Zoe bites out sharply, adjusting her hold on her gun. "But I like us alive a whole lot better than dead."

"Don't bring Felicity. Just get Simon," Oliver implores.

"Ollie, I don't know what your plan is, but they're both already on their way," Sara levels with him.

He's ever-so-barely hanging on to his sense of self. He's not sure he could at all if Felicity was nearby. It's bad enough that Thea's all over Roy, touching his neck and leaning over him in the stupid, worthless boy's shirt.

 _No_ , he likes Roy. He even likes Roy for Thea. But his thoughts aren't his own right now and that's beyond terrifying. He needs to be in control. Or, if he's not, he needs to not let whatever is going on inside him go unchecked.

If he can't win, he's not going to let the waters win either.

He opens his mouth to ask Sara if she has handcuffs, manacles, _something_ to bind him, keep everyone safe from what he might do to them. Especially if Felicity shows up first. But Simon practically runs into the room and Oliver breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of the doctor.

"I need you to do it," Oliver says immediately.

Simon stops in his tracks, looks from Roy with a fast-darkening bruise on his throat to Oliver curled up against the wall. He's weighing options, assessing risks. Oliver can practically see the wheels in the young doctor's mind turning as he runs through the problems at hand.

"You understand the risks?" Simon asks, wariness obvious in both his tone and his stance.

"What risks?" Sara questions sharply.

"I do," Oliver nods, ignoring Sara. "We don't have a choice anymore, doctor. I'm a threat to my own crew. I can't let that stand."

"Ollie, what the hell are you planning?" Sara demands.

The edge of panic in her voice is enough to pull Thea's attention, but Oliver can't look at his sister. She'll be worried and insist this is all too dangerous and maybe she'll be right, but that doesn't mean they have a choice.

"Simon's going to put me under," Oliver admits. "Just until we find Constantine and figure out how to fix this."

"Then why is he so worried about risks?" Thea challenges, folding her arms in front of herself uncomfortably.

He can't not look at her then, his baby sister. The fear on her face only redoubles his commitment to doing this. He'd do anything to save her from pain, especially from himself.

"Because I have no idea how the Lazarus Pit waters work," Simon tells them. "Medically speaking they _shouldn't_. And with them in his system, I have no idea how they'll react with the medications I'd need to give him to put him under."

"Could it kill him?" Sara demands.

"It could do absolutely anything," Simon informs her. "But yes, that's certainly one possibility."

"Then you can't!" Thea insists, arms falling away from her midsection as she takes a few steps toward Oliver.

He holds a hand up toward her to tell her to stop and takes a steadying breath as he looks back up at her.

"I have to," Oliver implores, begging her with his eyes to understand. "If I can't be in control of myself, I'm not going to let the Lazarus Pit be in control either. I refuse to be the weapon it uses to hurt you."

Her face crumbles at that and he knows that the logic of what he's saying is sinking in.

"I can't lose you too, Ollie," she says quietly, sounding very much like the twelve year old he'd left behind years ago and it breaks his heart.

"You won't," he promises. "I'm stronger than this. Find John Constantine. He can fix all of this. I know he can."

"Constantine," Thea nods, taking a steadying breath. "Okay. If this is what you think you have to do-"

"It _is_ ," Oliver insists.

"Okay," Thea echoes.

He was going to do this with or without her blessing, but he's glad to have it. He's well aware that he has no chance of the same thing happening with Felicity.

"We need to do this now," Oliver says, looking up at Simon.

" _Here_?" the doctor asks in surprise.

"I don't trust myself," Oliver tells him with gravity. "And neither should you. We need to do this here. Right now. Before Felicity gets here."

"Because she's going to be pissed and insist on helping you another way?" Sara asks.

Clearly he hadn't convinced her nearly as well as he had Thea.

"Because I have no idea what I'll do when she walks through that door," Oliver corrects.

And it's true. His control is thin and her very presence is likely to strip it away entirely.

While Sara seems wary of accepting this idea, Simon clearly doesn't. That's not surprising, though. As much as the doctor has always been cordial to him, he's well aware that even on his best days he makes the man nervous. In light of that fact, it doesn't surprise Oliver at all when the doctor reaches into the bag he brought and pulls out a syringe.

"Call Digg," Sara instructs Alina. "Zoe and I will have a tough time carrying him ourselves."

The relief Oliver feels as the needle in Simon's hand pierces his vein and the cool bite of some kind of medicine flows into him is all encompassing. He won't hurt anyone else. He won't let the waters use him to victimize the people he loves. It might not be control over his body, but at least he's taking control of his fate.

"What's going on?"

It's Felicity's voice and the steady clap of her heels quickly approaching him. But the surge of desperate need that he expects falls short of overwhelming him. He still feels it, but it doesn't take control over his muscles and grab at her greedily. He's quickly fading, too, feeling hazy and only partially present as the drugs Simon injected him with do their work.

"Keeping you safe," he manages, blinking up at her as his muscles sag against the wall.

"What did you do?" Felicity demands, looking at Simon with fire in her eyes as she touches Oliver's cheek.

"What he asked me to," Simon informs her and her eyes dart back to Oliver's face.

"S'okay," Oliver slurs as he assures her, trying to lift his hand to touch her but failing. "Just gonna sleep while you find John. It'll be okay."

"Why would you do this?" Felicity begs him.

"Don't want to hurt anybody," he tells her.

"But I can _help_ you. Why wouldn't you just come to me?" she asks.

She looks hurt by this and he wants to reassure her, but he's fading fast. His eyelids are so heavy and his limbs a dead weight.

"Not about you," he manages. "'Bout me. Taking control of myself. Love you. Don't wanna use you."

She's saying something, her beautiful voice frantic and worried. And he loves her for it all the more, even if he can't make out the words themselves anymore. It's all so far away and the effort to stay a part of the waking world is entirely too much. So, with the lingering feel of Felicity's fingers stroking his face and echoes of her voice running through his mind, Oliver fades away.

He only hopes he eventually wakes just as easily.


	38. Chapter 38

Reality catches up with Felicity slowly. None of this feels _possible_. Each crisis has blended into the next lately, but that doesn't mean she'd anticipated this. She hadn't. The Lazarus Pit waters' effect on Oliver is undoubtedly a problem. But compared to being stuck in the middle of an attempted mob coup or crash-landing in the frozen wilderness with no supplies and no rescue for weeks, it's a minor one. To her, anyhow. Apparently not to Oliver.

The unknowns of their situation rattle her down to her bones as Oliver slumps against the wall, his head lolling to the side and resting wholly against her hand, dependent on her support to stay anywhere near upright.

What happened? Why didn't he come to her? Didn't he trust her? Didn't he know she would help? Will he be okay? What will this do to him? What has he done to _himself_?

Disbelief shifts to anger tinged with frustration. And _wow_ does it shift quickly. Her vision blurs with tears and her hands tremble violently as she eases Oliver so he's no longer resting his head against her.

"What did you do?" she demands in a low, shaking voice as she stands and faces Simon. "You're supposed to be a _doctor_. 'Do no harm,' right? So what the _hell_ did _you do to him_?"

Tears obscure her vision and she can feel her face turning an ugly, blotchy red - something she normally hates - but she's miles past caring about that right now.

" _What did you do?"_ she hisses again, advancing on Simon as he backs away from her and holds up his hands.

"What I had to," Simon answers.

"You have no way of knowing what this will do to him!" she points out, thoroughly invading Simon's personal space and forcing confrontation.

"Neither does he," Simon counters with surprising resolve. "But he still chose this!"

She steps back slightly at that confirmation. She'd _known_ this was Oliver's choice. He'd basically said as much. But hearing it stated aloud so starkly makes it impossible to deny. And she'd been more than ready to sink into denial.

"His well-being isn't the only one I have to be concerned with on this ship," Simon points out, pressing the advantage of her momentary silence. "After he nearly strangled Roy, it became incredibly obvious that he is a danger to everyone on this ship _including_ himself. So, yes; I gave him drugs to render him unconscious - _at his request -_ because I _am_ a doctor and my oath _is_ to do no harm, but that doesn't begin and end with him."

She gets it. A huge part of her wishes she didn't. That might make it easier to hold on to her anger. And anger… it's so much easier to deal with than terror and grief and all of the infinitely more complex emotions that Oliver evokes from her. But one look over toward Roy, who is still taking strained breaths and has easily discernible finger-shaped bruises blooming on his throat reinforces everything Simon is saying.

"But I can help him," Felicity protests in a rapidly weakening, hushed voice. "We could have managed this together until we found a more permanent solution. You didn't have to do this. _He_ didn't have to do this."

"He did," Simon counters, dropping his voice to match hers and putting a hand on her shoulder as he turns them slightly away from the others. "He knows he can rely on you. He knows you want to help him. But he doesn't want you to _have_ to."

"I don't mind!" she insists, not even bothering to try to stop the tears in her eyes from spilling down her cheeks.

"But _he_ does," Simon points out, his voice gentle like he's trying not to spook a wounded animal. It's a more apt description than she'd like to acknowledge. "What if one time you said no?"

"I wouldn't do that," Felicity counters immediately, her voice rising slightly in volume with her need to underscore her point. "Why would I?"

"What if you were… too sore or too tired? Or just didn't want to?" Simon asks.

"That wouldn't matter. Not if he needed me," Felicity insists.

"Why?" Simon prods.

"Because… because he needs me," Felicity says, feeling a bit like a broken record. "Because I can help him."

"You know it's more than that," Simon tells her, his eyes fixed solidly on her. "If you _did_ say no… you know what might happen. His control keeps thinning and the only thing standing between him and murdering someone is _you_. Felicity… you _couldn't_ say no. Even if you think you wouldn't, it's the fact that you _couldn't_ that he wasn't willing to let stand. Coerced consent isn't consent at all."

Something in her crumbles at that. Her shoulders shake as she covers her face with her hands, slipping her fingers under her glasses to press against her eyes. She takes a few steadying breaths after a moment of letting his words settle, feeling out the truth of them and shifting her perspective.

"He told you that?" she asks, her tear-riddled voice gritty and raw as she pulls her hands away from her face and looks back to Simon. "That he was worried about that?"

"Yes. He did," Simon confirms. "And I agree with him. He's not in control of his own actions and you don't have control over your response to those actions. Not right now. And he doesn't want that for either one of you."

"I wish he'd _talked_ to me about that," she bemoans. "He should have explained it, warned me what he was planning."

"He should have," Simon agrees. "Maybe he would have if he'd had more time. I don't think he expected it to happen this quickly."

Simon's words are meant to reassure her, but she knows better than that. Oliver was never going to tell her about this plan. He hadn't wanted to risk her trying to talk him out of it. She knows that, because she knows _him_. And if they're going to be… _them_ … it's a thing they'll have to deal with. Eventually. Whenever he wakes up.

 _If_ he wakes up.

She looks back at Oliver's crumpled form where Thea has crouched next to him and is running her fingers through her brother's hair. Something about the gentleness and concern there - the obviously-worried look that so mirrors everything Felicity is feeling - slices through her and the reality of it truly overwhelms her.

There are no shortage of times she's seen him unconscious, no lack of days she's worried at his bedside while he recovers from some vigilante-induced injury. But this is different. This is uncharted. There's no clear path of recovery to make sure he's following and his injuries aren't the sort that can be seen.

Not by _them_ anyhow.

"We need to find John Constantine," Felicity announces with resolve, turning to look at everyone in the room. "Now. _Yesterday_. I want him found and on board this ship immediately and I don't care what we have to do to find him. Got it?"

She's not the captain. With Oliver out of commission, that title falls to Digg. But everyone treats her command like the orders they are. They're unified in this, the need to track down Constantine as quickly as possible. And the shared sense of purpose gives Felicity some measure of reassurance.

For now.

A week later, that feeling will have faded some.

* * *

Like every day for the past week, Felicity wakes with a crick in her neck. There's no point in trying to sleep in their bed without Oliver there. She'd figured that out fast enough. But the beds in the medical bay are less comfortable than one might expect, considering how often they're used.

Simon had not been thrilled about her insistence on pushing two of the cots together and curling up next to Oliver's unconscious form on a nightly basis. After all, they had no idea if he would actually remain asleep, given that they had only a cursory understanding of how the waters were affecting him. But Felicity had been unwilling to consider any other alternative. She needed the reassurance of his steady breathing to ground her, to lull her to sleep, to keep her sane. With every passing day, she's grown a little more desperate, a little more scared, and it's wearing on her in a measureable way.

"How's he doing this morning?"

Stretching her neck as much as she can - which frankly isn't much - Felicity turns to see Thea in the doorway. It's a familiar sight at this point.

"Same," Felicity replies just as she has for the last week.

"Good," Thea replies, edging her way toward her brother's side and pulling over her now-customary chair to sit with him.

"Is it?" Felicity wonders aloud, a departure from their routine conversation.

Thea's eyes dart up at her in surprise even as she takes her brother's hand in hers.

"I _miss_ him, Thea," Felicity confesses as the weight of everything sits heavily on her heart. "Waters or not, I just want him to wake up."

Nothing but the muffled constant noises of the medical bay echo in her ears as a response. It's all dull beeps from the machines monitoring Oliver's vital signs and steady, quiet breaths and the distant noise of Simon in his office shuffling papers. She hates it. She hates it almost as much as she hates the sterile smell of antiseptic that screams 'hospital' and leaves her nauseous. She wants this over, wants them _past_ this.

She wants it more than anything.

"Yeah. I know. Me, too," Thea agrees after a beat, her voice more authentic and emotional than Felicity had expected. "When he was gone those five years… when he was dead… sometimes I would get so angry at him for being gone. For leaving me. I'd barter with reality in my head, you know? I'd take him at his trouble-making worst if only I could have him back. I'd give up drinking if he'd just come home alive. I wouldn't even be mad at him if he walked in the door. This feels a lot like that. I don't care how he comes back, as long as he _does_."

It's the most Felicity's ever heard the other girl talk about those years. Hell, it's the most Thea's ever opened up to her about _anything_. To be fair, she hadn't really had a reason to before. Felicity has been Oliver's engineer for years and she's been his friend nearly as long, but her importance in his life had been muddied until recently. Even if they haven't actually defined what they are… well, the continued presence of his mother's ring on her finger speaks volumes.

She really should give that back to him. Soon. When he wakes up and things quiet down.

"And when he did?" Felicity asks the younger woman curiously. "How did you react then?"

"Oh I broke every promise I made," Thea laughs, her voice brittle.

"I haven't promised not to be mad at him," Felicity confides. "I know better than that. I'm _livid_. I want to scream at him. But I want to do it with him _awake_ for a change."

"Have you screamed at him while he's asleep?" Thea asks curiously, cocking her head to the side as she watches Felicity.

"Of course I have," Felicity scoffs. "Haven't you?"

"Lectured, not yelled," Thea tells her. "I get why he did it, you know. I can see why he made the choice he did. I'm not even sure it was the wrong one. But it doesn't mean I'm not _super_ pissed about it."

"You should try it," Felicity advises. "Yelling at him, I mean."

"Does it help?" Thea asks her.

"It sure doesn't hurt," Felicity responds with a one-shouldered shrug. "Sometimes you just have to let it out, you know?"

"Huh…" Thea says, her face twisting into a thoughtful expression as she leans back in the chair and studies Felicity with far more scrutiny than she'd have ever expected. Or wanted.

"What?" Felicity asks a little self-consciously, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to smooth it out.

"Nothing," Thea says shaking her head. "It's just, sometimes I forget how opposite you and Ollie are from each other. It's good. You're good for him. He needs someone like you."

"Someone who yells at him while he's in a drug-induced coma?" Felicity asks with a tight laugh, angling for levity and missing by a mile.

"Someone who evens him out," Thea counters, unwilling to let Felicity evade the point. "Someone who will fight for him, even against himself."

"He's always had that, Thea," Felicity points out, her voice soft and her smile small as she ducks her head and looks up at Thea. "He's had _you_."

Thea blinks back in surprise, her cheeks coloring ever-so-slightly in obvious delight at being deemed so important in her brother's life. And she _is_. That much was evident from the first moment Felicity heard Oliver mention his sister.

"It's not the same," Thea says after a moment, watching Oliver while she talks to Felicity.

"No," Felicity agrees immediately. "It's not. So maybe that just means he needs both of us."

The youngest Queen looks back at her with a new layer of respect and understanding in her eyes as she nods in agreement. It's subtle, the way their previously friendly-but-shallow acquaintanceship has evolved over this past week. But it _has_. Something about the danger to Oliver, the similar positions they find themselves in, their respective places at Oliver's sides… it's helped forge an unexpected bond between them that's unlike any other Felicity's had in her life.

She's never had a sibling, but she wonders if maybe this isn't what it would be like to have a sister of her own.

"Maybe," Thea follows up finally.

"I should go," Felicity says, slipping back into their routine.

 _Now that you're here_ goes unsaid. This is what they do, now. Every day. Through some unspoken agreement, they stand watch over Oliver in shifts while he sleeps. And while Thea takes her shift at his side, Felicity exhausts every lead they track down in an effort to find John Constantine.

John Constantine… she's starting to question if he even exists at this point, or if he isn't just some myth that Oliver's water-addled brain latched onto with desperate hope.

"Good luck," Thea offers up, the same parting words she gives every day.

Felicity's answering smile is thin. In theory, having some kind of routine between her and Thea is a lovely idea. She just wishes it were anything but this. Watching over a motionless Oliver, waiting for the arrival of some potential savior who may never come… it's wearing on both of them. Honestly, she's not sure how much more either of them can take.

But this isn't about them. Not really. It's about Oliver.

Her gaze falls to him and, even without glancing up, she knows Thea's looked away to give them a moment of near-privacy. Even after a week of him completely unresponsive to the world around him, she half-expects him to react when she cups the side of his face and strokes her fingers along his cheekbone. Every day, every time he doesn't, it hurts all over again.

She won't cry though. Not now. She's done enough of that for one week already.

With a heavy sigh, she leans forward to nuzzle the side of his face with hers, breathing him in and taking some comfort in the steady rhythm of his breath.

"I love you," she murmurs into his temple, cherishing the feel of his skin against her lips. "Sleep well. I'm going to find him."

It's a daily promise. And a fruitless one thus far. But, Felicity isn't one for giving up.

"See you at lunchtime?" Felicity asks Thea as she eases herself off the cot, letting her hand linger on Oliver's arm.

"I'll be here," Thea agrees with a weary resignation that Felicity feels right down to her bones.

She can't stand to respond with anything more than a sympathetic smile and nod of her head. There's no way she's going to trust herself with words at the moment. Not in the face of that sort of shared sense of helplessness that she can't let herself get bogged down by.

After all, she has things to do.

Her morning routine is a whole lot shorter than usual these days. She doesn't bother with more than the basics. Her nails haven't been freshly painted since Solntsevskaya and the chipping remnants of mint green polish feel like a really on-point metaphor for her life right now. But her customary ponytail is in place, if a little frizzier than usual, by the time she makes her way to the bridge. All things considered, that feels a little like a victory and she'll take those where she can find them.

"Morning, Digg," Felicity greets, handing her favorite pilot a cup of coffee she'd hastily grabbed from the dining area on her way. "Mal," she nods in acknowledgement of the other man lounging in the co-pilot seat.

"No cup o' drip for me?" Mal questions. "I'm feelin' a bit unloved."

"I don't usually walk around juggling extra cups of coffee just in case I run across someone who wants one," Felicity points out. "There's more in the mess if you want some, though. We got anything today, Digg?"

Felicity knows better than to hold out much hope for good news as she turns toward the pilot, but she still can't help feeling a bit disappointed at the grim line of his lips.

"Right…" she breathes out before mentally regrouping. "Did we hear back from Lyla yet?"

"Whoever this guy is, he's done a damned good job staying off of ARGUS' radar," Digg notes, obviously biting back whatever it is he wants to say. "She's heard rumors, but that's it. There's not even a file that she can find."

There's no doubt in Felicity's mind what Digg is thinking and it's enough to send her gut spirling into a state of quiet panic.

"He's real, Digg," she insists hurriedly, watching as Digg and Mal exchange a look.

"No one's sayin' he ain't," Mal offers with a tone that sounds more like pity than Felicity can stand to hear. "But maybe we oughta be brainstorming us a 'Plan B.'"

Something tickles at the back of her mind as Felicity turns her gaze from Mal to the strangely-silent Digg and back again. And then it clicks. They've talked about this. They've _planned_ this, a coordinated approach that feels more like an intervention than anything else.

They might _say_ they aren't suggesting John Constantine isn't real, but they both surely think it.

"I am _not_ giving up," Felicity snaps, her eyes fixed on Digg who can't even _look_ at her.

"Neither are we," Mal placates. "Just suggestin' we might want to be lookin' for more than one approach to fixin' what's wrong is all."

"We'll keep looking, Felicity," Digg tells her. "I wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise. But, maybe we should look more into this water at the same time."

"You already sent Sara to Nanda Parbat, didn't you?" Felicity accuses, already knowing the answer.

"We need a sample for Simon to run tests on," Digg replies in confirmation and Felicity's heart drops. "It's the right choice. You know that. It doesn't mean we're giving up."

She nods, choking on the heavy knot of despair that's lodged itself in her throat.

"Then why does it feel like I'm failing him?" she asks quietly, focusing wholly on Digg and silently appreciating the way Mal turns away to exclude himself from the conversation.

"Because sometimes winning a battle doesn't look like you think it will," Digg replies.

That's true, but that's not all of it, Felicity thinks. Trying this, trying _anything_ but looking for Constantine means admitting maybe they can't find him, maybe he isn't real. And if that's true… if that's true then Oliver's grip on sanity was slipping more than she'd come close to realizing. If that's true, she'd failed him before even realizing it. And that, quite frankly, is entirely too much to bear.

But saving Oliver - any way they possibly can - is considerably more important to her than her own crushed feelings.

"As long as we win it," she confirms, hoping she doesn't sound anywhere near as broken as she feels.

Digg reaches up and squeezes her shoulder, though, so she probably does come across exactly as torn apart as she feels in the hollow of her gut.

"I got it!"

Kaylee's voice, chipper and cheerful as always, breaks through the dismal atmosphere that's crept into the control room. And, just like that, hope wells up again in the pit of Felicity's stomach.

"Get talkin'," Mal prods the bubbly engineer.

"You found Constantine?" Felicity asks at the same time with painful amounts of eagerness.

"Got a damned good lead, anyhow!" Kaylee chirps. "A friend o' mine named Mr. Terrific knows him, saw 'im two days ago."

Felicity's way too excited at the prospect of actual evidence that the elusive man exists to care who the hell this lead is coming from, but that's not true for everyone in the room.

"Mr. _Terrific_?" Mal asks with the driest deadpan in history.

"It ain't his real name," Kaylee clarifies unnecessarily with more than a hint of defensiveness. "Just the one he goes by."

"...on account of Mr. Universe was taken?" Mal questions.

"He can call himself Superman for all I care. Is his lead good?" Felicity demands.

"Ain't never had him steer me wrong before," Kaylee advises. "He's a real swell guy. You'd like him. Anyhow, he says he ran into Constantine at a bar on Dyton two days ago."

"That's not far from here!" Felicity says in surprise, turning immediately to look at Digg. "John-"

"Already on it," Digg replies from the controls as he adjusts their heading. "We're three hours out at most."

"Did your friend have a way to get in contact with him?" Felicity asks hopefully.

"Says we won't need one," Kaylee tells her with a one-shouldered shrug. "He says if our problem's as bad as we say, Constantine will find us. I guess it's sorta his thing."

"That there's a highly specialized field o' crazy," Mal replies.

"Useful one for us, about now," Digg points out. "Felicity why don't you-"

"Yeah," Felicity agrees, anticipating his line of thinking and cutting him off. "I'll go talk to Thea and let her know what's going on. If we get any waves coming in…"

"Straight to you," John promises immediately.

Felicity nods and turns to Kaylee, hugging the other engineer tightly in tremendous gratitude.

"Thank you _so much_ ," Felicity whispers next to her ear.

"Aw, it ain't nothin'," Kaylee replies bashfully, her cheeks turning a brilliant red under the praise. "Just got lucky, is all."

"You kept trying," Felicity points out. "You believed in him. That's not nothing."

Felicity practically expects the other girl to say 'aw shucks' with the way she's blushing and toeing the ground, but she doesn't. Instead she grins back with a happy smile.

"Go let your sister-in-law know we got us a bona fide lead," Kaylee advises.

Felicity nods and hurries from the room. She's halfway to the medical bay before she realizes Kaylee had called Thea her sister-in-law and not only hadn't she objected, she hadn't even registered it was wrong.

 _Woah_.

But even that mind-reeling thought isn't enough to distract her. Not right now. They have a _lead_ , a real lead for the first time in a week. Her hopes are pinned so firmly on this that it's a little terrifying to consider that even a solid lead doesn't actually mean they'll find Constantine and that even if they do, it doesn't mean he'll be able to help.

But she can't think like that. She has to stay positive right now. Oliver needs that from her.

And so does Thea.

"We've got something," she says barrelling through the door to the medical bay with no preamble at all.

Thea stands immediately from the chair at Oliver's side and meets Felicity's gaze as she grips Oliver's fingers with both hands, like a child clinging to a security blanket. Something about her seems so small, so _young_ in this moment that it's striking. She's hopeful and terrified and Felicity's not sure that she's ever related to anyone on such a basic level in quite this way before.

"What?" Thea asks, apprehension dominating her voice.

"A lead," Felicity clarifies, crossing the room to stand in front of the girl. "A _solid_ lead. A friend of Kaylee's knows Constantine, saw him two days ago in this solar system."

Thea sucks in a breath as Felicity's hands grip hers cocooning Oliver's limp palm inside.

"We're going to find him. _Soon_. Today," Felicity promises, her fingers tight around Thea's.

She's not sure who she's trying to reassure - herself or Thea - but the certainty in her voice bolsters them both. Thea nods in solidarity, her face so hopeful, so trusting that it takes Felicity's breath away. The way Thea looks to her for guidance, for reassurance in this… it rests a weight of responsibility on Felicity's shoulders that couldn't have expected. There's a strange kind of bond forming that she'd never anticipated, but wholly welcomes in spite of the circumstances.

"All of this will be over soon, Thea. I promise," Felicity vows. "We'll get him back."

"Good," Thea says, gathering her composure and straightening her spine with the sort of steely resolve that Felicity has come to expect from the younger woman. "Yelling at him when he can't react really doesn't have the same punch, you know?"

Felicity smiles back at the girl's thin attempt at aloof disaffectedness. She's fooling no one, but she wears confidence like armor and Felicity's positive that Thea needs the familiarity and comfort of that right now.

"I _do_ know," Felicity confirms. "I fully intend to use my loud voice."

"Should we yell at him together?" Thea wonders aloud.

"We might overwhelm him," Felicity replies.

"Isn't that sort of the point?" Thea asks.

"Fair enough," Felicity nods with a smile, releasing the other girl's hands. "I should go let the others know about our progress. If we're going to be able to wake him soon, we're going to need some back up."

 _Just in case he's even more crazy_ goes unsaid.

"I'll go," Thea offers. "I promised Roy I'd drop by later anyhow. If you hear anything else…"

"Thea, you are the first person I would tell," Felicity reassures her.

As has become customary in their changing-of-the-guard routine, Felicity busies herself with something else - anything else… refolding blankets, this time - to give Thea a moment alone with her brother before she heads out. Oliver's condition has been hard on everyone, but no one else has gone through what Felicity and Thea have. No one else can understand what they're dealing with. But, strangely, they have each other and a new level of camaraderie that eases their burdens by sharing them.

"This friend of yours had better actually be able to fix the whole water thing, you jerk," Thea mutters affectionately under her breath. "Otherwise Felicity and I are going to start swapping embarrassing stories and I really don't think you want that, do you? I'm not above sharing baby pictures, Oliver. I think you know that."

Felicity can't help the grin that takes over her face. Hell, she doesn't even try to resist it.

"I'll see you in a bit," Thea says a bit louder, pulling Felicity's attention away from the fully uninteresting starchy hospital blankets.

"Okay," Felicity agrees, dropping the blanket onto a pile of identical ones and heading over to Oliver's side.

Thea strides out of the room without another word, her head held high with a confidence that Felicity's relatively sure the other girl doesn't feel anywhere near as strongly as she's trying to project. That's okay, though. Fake it 'til you make it, right? If there's one thing Thea Queen is excellent at, it's managing what image she shows the 'verse. That truth alone makes it more than a little surprising that she's been gifted the opportunity to glimpse beneath the girl's mask this past week. Surprising, but wholly welcome.

"You're lucky, you know," Felicity says, smoothing Oliver's hair back unnecessarily and letting her fingers linger along his hairline. "Your sister's pretty great and she's only livid because she loves you. FYI, that's why I'm livid, too. But you'll get to hear _all_ about that later, buster. Because she's right. Yelling at you while you're unconscious isn't as effective as I'd like."

Predictably, there's no answer. Just Oliver's even, quiet breaths.

Silence doesn't sit well with Felicity. It never has. But she doesn't feel like hearing herself ramble at the moment, so she rests her cheek on Oliver's chest and lets the steady thrumming of his heartbeat fill her ears. It's soothing, a reminder that even if he's not _there_ , he's also not _gone_. She's spent a lot of time listening to his heartbeat this week.

" _Felicity, we've got a wave coming in_."

It's Digg's voice over the comms and - just like that - she's pulled back into reality, jumping to her feet and scrambling for the comm system to reply.

"Is it him?" she asks, as soon as she hits the button to reply to Digg.

"Dunno," Digg replies. "I thought you'd want to take it."

"Patch it through to the med bay," she says excitedly before releasing the button for the comm system and hurrying over to the screen in Simon's office.

Though it feels like forever, it only takes a couple of seconds before the wave is connected and an unfamiliar face appears on the monitor in front of her. On first impression, he looks like the sort of man who's gone a few rounds with fate and never managed better than a draw, but kept grinning even as the 'verse kicked him in his teeth.

It's completely unsurprising that he's a friend of Oliver's.

"John Constantine?" she asks, buzzing with anticipation.

He quirks his head to the side at her immediate question, seeming equal parts amused and curious by her.

"That's what it says on the business card," he confirms.

"Oh thank god. I need you."

"I've got to say, that's by far the best and most forward greeting I've ever had, love."

"What? No… that's not… I need your _help_. Not like _that_ kind of help. You can't help me there," she backtracks flusteredly. "Not that you aren't perfectly fine at that kind of help. I'm sure you… are. Probably. Or, actually I don't know, but that's beside the point because I'm set in that department. Or I will be. Once you help us."

He blinks at her in confusion or possibly disbelief, an unlit cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.

"You've got quite a way with words," he says slowly after a moment.

Felicity sighs a frustrated huff of breath. She's doing this wrong.

"Let's back up. How about you start at the beginning, now that we've established you _aren't_ propositioning me" Constantine offers.

"Right," Felicity replies, refocusing on solving the crisis at hand with considerably more coherence. "My name is Felicity Smoak and we've been looking for you for the past week."

"I had an inkling that you might be in need someone with my area of specialization," he says. "All maps lead to your ship these days. Seems like you've got yourself one hell of a problem, love. Though, I'm a bit curious how you knew to try and track me down. It's not all that often my reputation precedes me. Well… in a positive kind of way, anyhow."

"Oliver told us to look for you," she explains.

He pauses at that, suddenly looking infinitely more serious.

"Oliver Queen?" he questions.

"Yes," she confirms, running her fingers through her hair. "He needs your help."

"What happened?" Constantine asks, flicking his lighter on and off but making no move to light the cigarette resting on his lip.

"Have you heard of the Lazarus Pit?" Felicity asks.

Constantine stops playing with the lighter immediately, his eyes widening as he sucks in a breath.

"You'll be wanting to lock him up, if you haven't already," Constantine counsels with frightening intensity.

"He's unconscious," Felicity tells him. "He has been for the last week. Our doctor… Oliver asked him to while he was… mostly lucid."

"Clever boy," Constantine replies.

"Can you save him?" Felicity asks a little desperately, terror infusing her voice. "Please tell me you can. I don't know what we'll do if… Just… I need him back. We all need him back. Please tell me you can save him."

"No, love. _I_ can't save him," he answers, shaking his head. "But you can. And I'll help you do it,"


	39. Chapter 39

For the first time in a week, neither Thea nor Felicity is at Oliver's side. It makes Thea antsy. The pull to hurry back to the medical bay and keep watch over her brother is so strong that it's almost a physical sensation. She has to actively force herself not to move. Every muscle in her body is tense with the warring efforts of staying put and rushing back to Oliver. It's a strange feeling. She hates it, honestly, but for the moment she's needed here and she knows it. So she forces her feet to stay still.

The elusive John Constantine's ship is docking with theirs. That takes precedence over everything else at the moment. It has to. Not just because Thea isn't going to trust this man to do _anything_ to her brother until she forms an opinion on him, but because - even though plenty of others are standing with them - it's her that Felicity needs at her side.

A quick glance to her left shows the other woman exactly as Thea had expected. Frazzled but confident, pale but determined. Her not-quite-sister-in-law has definitely had a rough go of things lately, but her focus, her perseverance… well, Thea can't help but think she's got the definite makings of a Queen.

If she can learn to tame her hair and look a little more poised when the world crumbles around her, anyhow.

Appearance is armor, Thea knows. Her mother taught her that, both in words and in action. It's the Queen way. And maybe… maybe when this is all over she'll talk to the future Queen about that. But for now, Felicity needs support. And frankly, so does Thea.

Metal scrapes against metal on the outside of the ship as the docking clamps latch down against their visitor's ship. And Felicity sucks in an unsteady breath of anticipation. When Thea reaches down for her hand and grapples to tighten her fingers against the other woman's, it's as much to lend her strength as it is to borrow some for herself.

A look of surprise flits across Felicity's face, followed up quickly by a tentative, anxious smile that Thea returns with faux serene confidence. Whether Felicity is officially married to her brother or not, Thea's very recently classified her as family. It makes her protective of the older woman with a fierceness she thinks she underestimated and it builds a sense of obligation that takes her by surprise.

Thea will support her and protect her and stand at her side. That's what family does. That's what family _is_. Her mother taught her that and - unlike some of her lessons - apparently it stuck, because she's gripping Felicity's hand tightly and holding her head high like she's daring anyone take her on if they want to get at Felicity. From the corner of her eye, she can see Digg's approving look, but she doesn't focus on that. Her gaze hones in solidly on the airlock in front of her as the tell-tale hiss of pressurization tells her their guest's arrival is imminent.

Honestly, Thea couldn't have said quite what she had expected of John Constantine, possibly some grizzled old man with too few teeth. Okay, probably it was that. But her mental image had definitely been off because the scruffy, delightfully-rumpled man who positively reeks of trouble as he steps onto their ship comes as one hell of a surprise. And, really, it's a good thing she hadn't met him a few years ago when she was single and a bit more rebellious because damn if this guy isn't exactly Thea's brand of a bad idea.

"Well this is quite the greeting party," Constantine says after a pause where he clearly takes in all of the faces before him.

"You're quite the guest," Digg returns, sticking his hand out in greeting. "I'm John Diggle, acting captain with Oliver incapacitated."

"A pleasure," Constantine replies, shaking the outstretched hand firmly before turning toward Felicity. "And _you're_ even lovelier in person. I'm increasingly disappointed that your proposition was unintentional."

Thea lets go of Felicity's hand and folds her arms in front of her chest in challenge as she raises an unamused eyebrow at the newcomer. But Felicity hardly needs her non-verbal defense. Somehow the blonde manages to both blush and glare at the same time before drawing the conversation entirely back to where her focus lies - Oliver.

"I'm sorry about that," Felicity offers. "Sometimes I just… don't pick the best wording. We really do need your help, though. Oliver needs you."

"I told you, love, he doesn't need me," Constantine levels with her. "He needs _you_. You just need me to help provide the conduit."

"And what does that mean?" Thea asks, butting in.

"We'll get to that in a moment," Constantine assures her, turning toward her and eyeing her in an openly appraising way that prompts Roy to take a step closer to her side. "But I don't believe we've met…"

"Thea Queen. Oliver's sister," Thea announces like it's a title. Because it is, to her anyhow.

"Ah…" Constantine replies, eyes crinkling in an entirely attractive way as he reevaluates her with fresh eyes. "I've heard a lot about you. If I'm not mistaken, your brother's going to need your help as well. But I'll need to see the patient first, to get a clearer look at what exactly has him in its grips."

"Nothing has him 'in its grip,'" Roy replies, either put out by Constantine clearly checking her out or by being bypassed for an introduction. "The Lazarus Pit water made him crazy. It's like a drug or a poison or something."

"That's one way of looking at it," Constantine shrugs. "If you want to say he's been poisoned by spirits."

"I'm not really much for this supernatural crap," Roy tells him with distaste.

"And I'm not much for lung cancer, but that doesn't mean it can't kill me," Constantine replies, flipping a cigarette around between his fingers. "This 'verse is made up of far more than you can see, mate. It's made up of more than _I_ can see, too. Angels and demons, spirits and dark forces… they're all as real as you an' me. And while I can't see everything, I'm goin' to go out on a limb and say I see more than most."

"Well, thank you for coming," Digg says, pulling Constantine's attention back to him.

"Oliver trusts this crackpot?" Roy mutters near Thea's ear. "Seems like his deck's missing a few cards to me."

He's got a point. Thea's not all that sure about Constantine either. But when it comes down to it, Oliver _does_ trust him. And it's not like they have any other good options.

"Hopefully they aren't cards we need," Thea says, shrugging one shoulder back at her boyfriend.

"You think he can really help?" Roy asks skeptically.

"I think… I think that the 'verse is a whole lot bigger than I used to assume," Thea replies thoughtfully. "We've seen a lot these last few years, Roy. Reavers, mirakuru… If Oliver thinks this guy can help, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now."

Nothing she says seems to convince her boyfriend, but he accepts her words anyhow. Because that's Roy. He'll support her even if he doesn't buy a word of this. It strikes her, suddenly, how far he's come, how far _they've_ come, since the days when he stole her shuttle and then wanted nothing to do with her when she declined to press charges. No scruffy, attractive man can come between that no matter _how_ delicious his accent is.

"Let's have a look at the patient, then," Constantine says, pulling Thea out of her thoughts and back to the larger conversation.

Clearly, he wasn't going to have to say it again. Felicity turns toward the hall with a sharp " _This way_ " before walking quickly toward the medial bay with everyone else in her wake. It's literally the shortest statement Thea's ever heard from the other woman and the lack of a ramble under stress actually throws her for a loop.

She scrambles to catch up, Roy at her side in a protective stride that Digg mirrors nearly exactly in front of them. Oliver might trust this man, but it's clear neither Digg nor Roy do, yet. She probably should have expected as much. Digg takes his responsibility as temporary captain quite seriously and Roy isn't exactly what anyone would call the trusting type. Still, there's something reassuring about knowing that they're on edge, that they have Oliver's back.

As if there were ever a doubt.

Felicity is far enough ahead of them that by the time Thea enters the medical bay, she's already at Oliver's side holding his hand and looking back at Constantine with wariness and hope.

Something about the sight of Oliver gives Constantine pause. His steps falter and he gives a little grunt of disapproval as he soaks in the sight in front of him. Thea can't help but wonder what precisely he sees.

"You've got yourself in quite the pickle there, don't you mate?" Constantine mutters, shaking his head as he looks at Oliver's unmoving form.

"What do you mean? You can help him right? Or help us help him, whatever?" Felicity asks in a rush of breath. "Because he said you could. _You_ said you could. So, we need that to be true. _I_ need that to be true because if you can't I just don't know what I'm going to-"

"Calm down, love," Constantine interrupts. "I didn't say there was nothing we could do, just that it's bad. I'm going to need a moment to figure out how bad, though, eh?"

Felicity nods firmly, her frizzy ponytail bouncing with the motion as she keeps silent, but the manic look in her eyes doesn't fade in the least. It's that look, more than anything else, that brings Thea to the other woman's side. She's worried, too. But Felicity… Felicity's pinned all her hopes on Constantine and the very notion that he might not be able to help has her in a near panic.

"It's okay," Thea tells her quietly, wrapping an arm around Felicity's side and leaning into her. "He's going to be okay. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Felicity asks, looking at Thea even as Constantine starts uttering something completely unintelligible and probably not English in the background.

"Because we won't allow anything else," Thea replies loftily. "Because we _demand_ it."

"That works for you?" Felicity asks skeptically.

"More often than not," Thea confirms.

Felicity is about to say something, but whatever it is gets cut off by Constantine stumbling backwards mid-chant, his eyes rolled back in his head as Roy and Digg catch him by the arms.

"Thanks," he says as he shakes his head and his eyes return to normal. "The hold on him is firmer than I thought. It goes deep, right down to the roots of his being. Weeding it out isn't going to be easy."

"But you _can_?" Felicity demands. "We can?"

"Aye, love," Constantine confirms. "With enough strength and provided he's willing."

"What does _that_ mean?" Thea insists. "Of course he's willing. He's the one who tried to get ahold of you to get rid of this in the first place."

"That was before he found sanctuary," Constantine supplies with a sigh. "It's a whole different ballgame, now."

"I don't understand," Felicity replies sharply. "He's unconscious, tortured by these horrible murderous impulses. That's not my definition of sanctuary."

Constantine sighs and winces as he looks at her and before he even opens his mouth, Thea knows she isn't going to like whatever the man has to say.

She's not wrong.

"The demons of the water, they took root in his soul, right?" Constantine asks. "You lot seem to have gathered that much, at any rate. Beings like this… they look for cracks, weak spots, and they flourish there in the dark. With him unconscious, everything at the forefront is dark. It's _all_ demons. You're quite lucky he didn't wake before I got here or you'd all be dead. Oliver, the man _he_ is, has retreated deep within the layers of his own mind. He's created for himself a safe little eye in the storm at the core of his own being. He's _there_ , but he's buried under layers of demons. They surround him, keep him locked away."

"So what do we do?" Felicity asks immediately. "How do we get rid of the dark?"

"We go in, of course," Constantine replies simply. "But the other side isn't to be trifled with. It's going to be dangerous. I can't emphasize that enough. And Oliver… he's retreated far enough that he's someplace safe, even _joyful_ in his mind. Leaving that to fight through his own demons might be asking too much of him. Most people couldn't do it."

"Oliver will," Felicity says immediately with tremendous confidence. "He's been so strong to fight this as long as he did. He'll keep struggling against it. He doesn't back down from a fight."

"Maybe not, love, but he's got to decide it's a fight worth having," Constantine points out. "His demons will show themselves in ways familiar to him, the very worst of his own memories. That sort of thing is tough for anyone to face, but for a man like Oliver… Well that's a whole different ballgame now, isn't it?"

"I don't understand," Thea says. "You said we go in… we go in _what?"_

"Well, in his mind, of course," Constantine tells her. "That's where the demons are, after all."

"That's…" Thea starts.

"Crazy," Roy finishes, shaking his head in steady disbelief. "I'm sorry, but it's _crazy_. This is like some kind of shell game and, man, I grew up running those. I get how they work. I don't know your end game, but I sure as hell know you can't just take people on a stroll through Oliver's mind."

"You aren't the first non-believer I've met," Constantine tells him, tracing some sort of sigil in the air and leaving a strange glowing impression of a mark that expands outward and lights up the room in an unearthly yellowed glow. "Won't be the last either, I'd wager. Luckily for your friend here, magic isn't dependent upon you believing in it, mate."

Roy seems startled by the display and Diggle looks as wary as she's ever seen the man, but Felicity is obviously clinging to the hope he's telling the truth and Thea… Thea's willing to believe, if only because the alternative leaves them in such a terrible place.

"Fine," Thea says, stepping forward until she's toe-to-toe with Constantine. "We're with you. Let's go on a mind walk through my brother's head and bring him back. Now, tell me... What do we need to do?"

* * *

The only thing that Felicity can focus on for the next few hours is whatever she needs to do _next_ in preparation for saving Oliver. Her attention is thoroughly fixed on _right now_ because thinking ahead shows her nothing but a terrifying expanse of unknown. So she puts one foot in front of the other, finds the seemingly random things that Constantine says he needs and makes sure Kaylee is aware she's in charge of keeping the ship running in her absence.

Because she _will_ be gone.

If there's any chance to save Oliver, she's going to take it no matter what personal risk the journey entails. Thea will, too. That much is obvious. So would Digg, if given the option. But, Constantine has made it clear that he can only bring two people along on their journey through Oliver's mind - a trippy notion if ever Felicity's heard one - and that those two people need to be Felicity and Thea. It's something that Digg is clearly unhappy with for a variety of reasons. While she suspects he doesn't believe any of this will work in the first place, he's also thoroughly against Felicity and Thea being in danger where he can't go to help.

But that's too bad because it's not like they have a choice.

"You ready for this?" Thea asks, some uneasiness working its way through her usually impassive mask of confidence.

"Yes. No," Felicity replies in quick succession, putting down the last item Constantine had asked for into a pile of things at Oliver's bedside. "I'm ready for him to be home. I'm ready to have him back. But the rest of it…"

"Yeah," Thea echoes. "I get it."

"He's been through so much, you know?" Felicity asks. "And I know there's a lot he doesn't talk about. He's spent _years_ not facing it. Making him do that now, when he's weakest…"

"That's why we'll be there," Thea reminds her, gripping both of her hands. "To help him, to remind him that it's worth it. To prove to him that he _did_ get through those things and because he did he has both of us. If he stays locked away in his mind, he doesn't. He'll fight his own demons because it means fighting for us and that's a fight my brother will always take on."

"Some of the things he went through… Thea, I have to think he doesn't talk about them for a reason," Felicity points out, choosing her words carefully. "I'm sure that there are things he's seen and done that he doesn't want us to know about. And I respect that. I have always respected that. But this… we're going to be _in his mind_. He won't have a way of keeping anything from us. It feels like a violation of his trust. That doesn't sit well with me."

"Me either," Thea agrees. "But we don't have a choice. This is about saving _his life_."

"It's more than saving his life," Felicity reminds her. "It's saving his _soul_. But we can't forget that everything he went through, everything he _did,_ they're all things that led him back to us."

"Okay," Thea nods, watching Felicity thoughtfully. "Okay. You're right. This is about saving Ollie. It can't be about anything else."

"After we get him back, I think we need to remember that unless he brings it up, we can't ask him about whatever we learn while we're in his mind," Felicity ventures further. "It wouldn't be fair to him. We're trying to free him from his demons. We can't be the ones revisiting him with those same demons later."

"Unless he brings it up," Thea agrees. "Yeah. Whatever haunts him gets to be his business… as long as we can break him free of it and get him back."

"That's a mighty wise distinction, ladies," Constantine says, dropping some sort of ceremonial-looking blade atop the pile of things Felicity has assembled on his behalf. "I do hope you hold to that resolution, for all of your sakes, but it might prove harder than you'd like to presume."

"Nothing worthwhile comes easily," Felicity announces with resolve. "We'll do whatever we have to for Oliver, both now and in the future."

"Well then… probably best we get started, isn't it?" Constantine asks.

" _Now_?" Thea questions.

"No time like the present," Constantine replies. "The demons have already had entirely too much time to take root. The longer they're there, the harder it will be to shake them loose."

He squats down as he speaks, some ashy material in his hands that he carefully draws an intricate symbol with below Oliver's bed. It's not a language Felicity recognizes, if it's a language at all. But his movements are precise. It's clear he does this with purpose, even if it doesn't make a bit of sense to her.

"I'm not exactly cool with this," Roy says uneasily, a few steps away from Thea.

"Good thing you don't have to be," Thea answers, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at her boyfriend. "Roy, I love you, but this is my brother. If I can help him, I'm doing it. Sorry if it makes you uneasy, but this is _my_ life and it gets to be my choice what to do with it. I choose to help Ollie. I'd do the same for you."

"That's not actually comforting," Roy tosses back at her.

"Nothing about this is comforting," Thea points out. "My brother is lost in his own mind, Roy. If I can help him, I'm going to."

Roy says nothing, but sets his jaw and nods. He gets it. Felicity is sure of that. He just doesn't like it.

"If anything happens to them…" Digg starts, giving Constantine a dangerous look.

"I can't promise nothing will," Constantine counters immediately, standing and dusting the ash off of his hands. "But if it does, it'll happen to me, too, and I won't be alive to hold accountable."

From near the medical equipment Oliver is hooked up to, Simon makes some kind of dismissive noise. Felicity fully expected the doctor's skepticism - Digg and Roy's too, really - but she can't bring herself to care a great deal about that. Not right now. Not when they're about to try and get Oliver back.

"So what do we do?" Felicity asks. "How do we start this?"

"You ladies are going to want to be on either side of him," Constantine instructs. "Hold hands over his body, shut your eyes and focus entirely on him. I'll take care of the rest."

Luckily, while everyone else might be more than a little disbelieving of Constantine's powers, Thea and Felicity have both fully resolved to follow his lead and they both do exactly as he says. Thea's hands are small and warm in hers. They tremor slightly with nerves or fear and Felicity grips them tighter. They're in this together.

Somewhere in the background, Constantine chants. Strange guttural noises that echo strangely in her ears. But she doesn't let her mind linger on that. She thinks, instead, of Oliver. Of his smile, of the way he says her name, of his devotion to his cause that she loves so much. And, soon enough, her mind's eye blurs and everything _shifts_.

The world overall becomes clearer, but parts of it go foggy when she tries to look directly at them, little patches of her surroundings that slip from view when she tries to see them.

"Woah… that was… _woah_."

It's Thea's voice and Felicity realizes suddenly that they're still holding hands and she can still hear Constantine's chanting, but they're no longer in the medical bay. There's no longer _anywhere_ she recognizes.

"Did it work?" Felicity wonders aloud, a little thrown by how much that notion surprises her.

"No need to sound so stunned, love," Constantine says, pulling out a gold-colored lighter and flicking a flame on and off like it's an unconscious twitch. "Getting here was the easy part."

"And… where is _here_ exactly?" Thea wonders, looking around.

"It's still coming into focus, but it looks like a log cabin to me," Constantine offers. "Wherever it is, it's a place that haunts your brother, though. Be alert. The demons are a very real danger. They'll toss the worst of what he's endured at you and use that distraction to attack."

" _Literally_?" Felicity asks.

"Of course," Constantine answers, his hand hovering over his lighter as the flame beneath his fingertips grows impossibly larger. "But don't worry. I've got it handled… probably."

"You know I'd prefer a bit more certainty," Thea deadpans, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"Me too, love," he shrugs. "'Verse doesn't work that way."

Thea's about to say something back, but as everything sharpens around them her face pales and the words seem caught in her throat.

"You know where we are," Constantine realizes.

"Oh... _Ollie_ ," Thea says almost mournfully.

"What?" Felicity asks, anxiety rattling her. "Where are we?"

"It's… it's our old lake house," Thea replies with tremendous hesitance. "I almost didn't recognize it. My parents sold it after… everything."

"Gonna have to be a bit more specific, love," Constantine tells her. "More details the better. There's no room for secrets here."

Thea sucks in a breath and her eyes start to Constantine before she looks back at Felicity.

"I almost died here," she says after a moment.

"What?" Felicity asks, blinking back at the girl. "What happened?"

"I was four or five," Thea says in a far off voice. "Ollie was watching me, but he was… he wasn't exactly reliable in those days. There was a girl, of course, and he was distracted. He didn't know I could undo the latch on the back door."

As she talks parts of the scene around them shift, become almost visible. It's like an echo of Oliver. He's not _here_. They know that. He's holed up somewhere happier than this. But parts of him linger, an impression of his teenage self lingers on the sofa with his hands buried in the dark hair of a girl barely older than him. They're both translucent, wispy images of moments long since etched into his memory.

"Where did you go?" Constantine asks, some measure of urgency emphasizing his words. "How did you almost die?"

"Ollie had made up a story about dolphins in the lake," Thea remembers a little brokenly. "I always liked dolphins, but I wasn't a very good swimmer."

Constantine barrels out the door at that and Felicity follows on his heels, dragging Thea along by her hand and leaving the shade of Oliver behind.

The outdoors are brighter than she'd expected. For a dark place filled with demons, there surely is a strange ethereal glow around everything. It all feels as otherworldly as it is. But when they reach the lake… well, the darkness makes its presence exceedingly clear.

For all the luminescence of the trees and the clear blue sky that seems to stretch on into forever, the lake is a pit of swirling black water, an abyss with seemingly no bottom. This is where the demons live, she has no doubt. This is the darkness in his mind that lives in this moment of his past.

Constantine starts chanting as he wades into the water, tendrils of glowing flames pushing through the water in a way that defies all logic. For a moment, she wonders what his plan is exactly. But then she sees it.

And so does Thea.

"Oh my god," Thea breathes out as they walk out onto the dock.

A tiny dark-haired girl's head breaks the surface of the water briefly, coughing and gasping for breath as gnarled hands claw at her, drag her back under.

"Oh my god, that's _me_ ," Thea says, frozen in shock.

Felicity doesn't even stop to think. She just reacts.

Diving into the water is strange, because it's not wet. But the lake swallows her whole and pulls her under anyhow. Her hair floats about her face and there's no air, but that's not her immediate focus. The strangeness of this all falls away because there's a little girl pulled beneath the placid water's surface with reavers dragging her down ever further.

Constantine's voice echoes in the distance, muffled by water as she kicks her legs and works her way down to grab little Thea's arm and tug. Hands grab at her, bite into her skin and try to drag her down further. She tugs and kicks, unwilling to let go of the little girl and pushing down panic as her lungs start to burn.

She can see them clearer now, the reavers. The lake is _filled_ with them. They move along the floor beneath her, carpeting it and piling atop each other like a mountain of walking corpses hell-bent on reaching her at any expense.

And they do.

They grab her wrists, pull at her ankles, even as she kicks and tugs. But her efforts aren't enough. If she'd thought about it before diving in, she'd have remembered that Constantine had _told_ her she alone wouldn't be enough to save Oliver from his demons.

Suddenly, though, there's a hand pulling her up, instead of down. It's a struggle, certainly, but ever so slowly, she starts to make her way back toward the surface, her hands still firmly gripping little Thea's now-unmoving form.

Beneath her, swirls of light twist around the reavers, work their way between her skin and their claw-like fingers, slowly wrenching her free. By the time she can draw air again, she's gasping with the need for oxygen someone is hoisting her and the unconscious child up onto the dock.

" _THEA!"_

Someone screams. It's a man's voice and there's a rapid thud of heavy footsteps right up until Felicity feels something pass right _through_ her. It's possibly the strangest sensation of Felicity's entire life. And considering she just nearly drowned in a dry, water-filled lake while being pulled toward the bottom by reavers inside Oliver's mind, that's saying something.

"Poor choice," Constantine chastises as she tries to catch her breath and looks to her side to find Thea's adult self still holding tightly onto her arm, her grip exactly as tight as it had been as she'd hoisted her up from the lake. "It's going to take all of us to win this war. Diving in headfirst by yourself is a surefire way to get us all killed."

She can't catch her breath, but nods as the words sink in. There's no doubt in her mind that he's right. This isn't a battle she can win on her own.

A few feet in front of her, the ghostly haze of a much younger Robert Queen than she'd ever seen is frantically doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on his very young daughter, who jolts and coughs up black water after a moment.

"Your dad saved you?" Felicity asks, looking toward a clearly rattled Thea.

"Yeah," Thea agrees, her eyes fixed on the memory playing out in front of her. "I was lucky. He got back from a meeting early. But this was the beginning of the end for him and Ollie. Dad never forgave him for what happened."

"I'd say Oliver never forgave himself, either," Constantine notes out with a pointed look. "Given how many demons fill that lake."

"The reavers are his demons?" Felicity asks, looking between Thea and Constantine.

"Must be," Thea agrees. "There certainly weren't any reavers there when I almost drowned."

"Given what he's been through, you can't be all that surprised that his demons show themselves as reavers," Constantine points out. "It's a little on the nose, if you ask me, but it's his mind. Who am I to judge?"

Just then, Felicity realizes the scene around them is fading, blurring into obscurity, shifting into something else entirely. What, of course, remains to be seen.

"But we beat them?" Felicity asks, a little unclear on how this all works. "We beat the demons?"

"Oh, love," Constantine tsks with a tilt of his head. "We beat _that_ group of them, but your boy has far more demons than _that_. I'd venture to guess we're just at the beginning of our journey. Buckle up, ladies. We're in for a bumpy ride."


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N - Warning for moderate gore.**

* * *

Silvery threads of memories swirl about Felicity's feet like liquid mercury, a mottled grey that winds around her ankles. Maybe it should scare her, given the way the more fragmented parts of Oliver's mind just tried to pull her to the bottom of a lake. But it doesn't. She knows this feeling.

It's warm and familiar, the way the ethereal grey holds her loosely, not so tight as to be stifling but near enough to make its presence known. Like Oliver used to, once upon a time. Before they were _them_.

At arm's length but never further away, indeed.

"Oliver?" she asks curiously, reaching down to touch the tendrils slipping around her feet.

It pulls away from her fingers leaving a whirlpool of nothing beneath her touch.

"He's just getting used to us, love," Constantine offers, looking around at the vast expanse of emptiness around them. "Can't expect he's all that used to other people going for a stroll about his mind, now can we?"

"That grey stuff? It's my brother?" Thea asks, eyes widening in disbelief.

"Well of course it is," Constantine replies with a scoff. "Who else did you expect to find in his mind? This is all him and his demons. Any bit that's not aiming to kill you is going to be him."

Felicity had already figured that part out, though, and she pays little attention to the duo at her side, more interested in the sea of consciousness lapping at her feet. Some of it piles atop itself, a little mountain of viscous iridescent liquid that almost looks like a finger as it reaches out to touch her hand before recoiling.

It's funny. For the split second, she feels closer to Oliver than she has in the entire week she's spent at his side while he slumbers. He's _here_. He's near her in a way he hasn't been for entirely too long.

"I'm not sure he's all that happy we're here," Thea mutters, crossing her arms and looking every inch the petulant teenager she was when Felicity first met her.

"Well he hasn't shoved us right out, so I'd call that a good sign," Constantine shrugs.

"He could _do_ that?" Thea asks.

"Of course he could," Constantine replies. "It's his mind."

Felicity straightens back up and looks to her companions. "He expected Constantine," she points out. "He'd asked for him. But you and me, Thea? He didn't expect us here. I don't think he quite knows what to do with that. He wouldn't want us in danger. That's why he put himself under in the first place. And… and really, would you want your brother and your partner wandering around your worst memories?"

She takes a step as she finishes her question and is startled to find it's a step _up_. The liquid solidifies beneath her feet and the indefinable grey world around them starts to coalesce into something else, someplace else.

"What's happening?" Thea asks, her voice urgent and face tensed with anticipation.

"Stay sharp," Constantine orders, standing like he's awaiting an attack. "We've got no way of knowing what's to come next."

The air turns heavy and thick. Some mixture of smoke, engine fluid and hot metal burns at her senses in the kind of way that would be instantly recognizable to any ship's engineer. Even before the scene around her really solidifies, she knows it will be the burned out husk of a ship. And she's not wrong. But she's somewhat surprised at what ship it is. Or, rather, what ship it's _not_.

Honestly, she'd been expecting the Queen's Gambit, not a short-range shuttle that would have been top-of-the-line a decade ago.

The sparks coming from the ship's panels come into focus before the panels themselves and Felicity wonders if that's because it's clearer in his memory or if it's just a coincidence. She doesn't know. Maybe she'll ask Constantine more about how exactly all of this works after they're back on Verdant - she sort of hates not being able to explain all of it, honestly - but she's got bigger issues to deal with at the moment.

"Oh my god," Thea says, stumbling backwards with a hand over her mouth and her face paling horribly as the scene becomes horribly clear. "Oh my _god_."

A translucent image of late-teenage Oliver slumps in the co-pilot seat, unconscious and bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow, but breathing. He's more indistinct than anything else around them, probably because Oliver hadn't seen _himself_ at the time. But the rest of the scene… the rest of it is blisteringly clear.

There's an empty bottle of some undoubtedly expensive liquor on the floor and a handful of pills scattered around it, a growing pool of blood threatening to envelop all of it. But it's not Oliver's blood. No, it's the pilot's.

She's young, as young as Oliver, and clearly dressed for a party they've likely just left. But unlike him, her eyes are fixed and blank with the aimless stare of death, a huge part of the ship's overhead paneling having sliced through her left side from hip to head.

"Oh my god," Thea repeats again and Felicity can tell the other girl is barely hanging on.

"Try not to throw up in your brother's head, would you?" Constantine requests. "Can't imagine that would go over all that well."

He doesn't look at Thea, though. He's too busy scanning the area for whatever form the demons take this time. Which is fine, really, because someone has to do that, but Felicity's concern in this moment hones in fully on Thea.

She walks over to the other girl, putting her hand on Oliver's sister's trembling shoulders and turning her away so she's not looking directly at the gory scene.

"Take a breath," Felicity advises when she realizes Thea is on the verge of hyperventilation. "Slow and deep, okay?"

Thea nods, locks eyes with her and follows Felicity's example, sucking in a long, slow breath of acrid air that tastes like death and regret.

"We need to help Oliver, right?" Felicity asks when Thea looks like she might be starting to come back to herself. "So I need to understand what happened here. We have to figure out how to beat this so we can get to him."

"I didn't know," Thea insists, voice heavy with pleading desperation. "They never told me."

"Never told you what?" Felicity asks, her voice gentle, like she's trying not to spook an animal.

"They just said she moved away. Got a _scholarship_ and went to school somewhere back East," Thea half-explains. "I knew she liked Ollie. _Everyone_ seemed to like him back then. But I didn't know they had a thing and I had no idea she'd died. Or that Ollie was there when it happened."

"Who is she?" Felicity questions.

"My babysitter," Thea says, her tone rough and strangled. "Samantha. She was… she used to watch me when I was a kid. And then one day she stopped coming and mom was closed off. You know how she got, aloof and proper. _Regal_ , right? That was mom. But dad… dad yelled at Ollie all the time in those years. And Ollie just spiraled worse and worse into the party scene. But I didn't put it together. I didn't know. I didn't know this happened."

"You were a kid, Thea," Felicity consoles. "They were trying to protect you."

"I'm really tired of being lied to for my own protection," Thea says, even as she swipes away tears. "She was nice. I liked her. She used to let me wear makeup and I helped her pick out dresses for parties. She always made them sound magical. She called me her fairy godmother. It made me feel important. I was nine and everyone was so busy. No one had time for me back then. But Samantha… she made me feel like I mattered to her. I loved her for that. And I didn't… I didn't _know_."

Thea's still shaking when Felicity wraps her arms around the girl and holds her close. She needs this right now and even if they're more-or-less waiting for reavers to pop out of the woodwork, so to speak, she can't not offer Thea this support.

"It's not your fault," Felicity tells her as Thea lets out a muffled sob into her shoulder. "There was nothing you could have done."

"But… maybe if I'd-" Thea starts before Felicity pulls back and looks the other girl in the eye.

" _No_ ," Felicity says insistently. "The only one at fault here is Samantha. She made a mistake. She drank and she took drugs and she got behind the controls of a shuttle and it cost her her life. You aren't to blame for this, Thea. And as much as I get why Oliver blames himself, it's not really his fault either. Did he make mistakes? Absolutely. But _she_ made her own choices, too. No one made her drive. It's tragic and it never should have happened. But the only one to blame for Samantha's death is _Samantha_."

The remnants of the shuttle brighten almost painfully as Felicity finishes, but it's not coming from the ship's lighting. It's an indistinct overall glow that seems to be coming from the husk of the ship itself.

"Well now…" says Constantine. "I do believe you've hit on something."

The ghostly image of Oliver wakes up and Felicity's heart aches for the boy as the reality of his situation sinks in. He looks so very young as panic swamps him and he tries futilely to wake his obviously dead companion. But Samantha is dead. There's no doubt of that and he realizes the truth after barely a moment, stumbling backwards and grappling for the communications controls, which miraculously still seem to work.

He calls his father. Not the police. Not his mother. He calls his dad. His voice is so weak, so scared. And Robert Queen… Felicity can't hear his words distinctly. Maybe they were muffled by Oliver's terror even at the time, but his tone is all business.

Oliver had needed someone to be mad. He'd needed someone to _care_. Felicity has no doubt of this. But it's clear that all he'd gotten from his father was a scandal swept under the rug and a girl's death quietly hushed while the Queens went on with business as normal.

No wonder he'd continued to escalate his behavior.

"You're right," Thea says with a steadying breath, looking back at the dead form of her one-time babysitter. "It was her fault. And we're lucky she didn't kill Ollie in the accident, too."

"Exactly," Felicity says, nodding at Thea. "They both made mistakes and they both could have lost their lives for it. But taking… whatever those pills are and flying? That was Samantha's fault."

"She could have killed my brother," Thea realizes. "He could have died when I was _nine_."

"He really could have," Felicity agrees.

It's striking how quickly Thea's grief over Samantha's death morphs into anger, but it's also not terribly surprising. Thea defaults to anger quickly. It's easier for her to cope with, Felicity suspects. She's dealt with entirely too much grief in her short life.

Movement from the corner of Felicity's field of vision makes her jump. Because it's not Constantine and it's not Oliver's half-visible form. It's Samantha's corpse. And _wow_ was she not prepared for that.

She jerks roughly, cloudy eyes darting around and claw-like hands grappling to reach toward them as her jaw snaps.

"A reaver?" Thea asks startled, looking like she can't exactly decide how to react.

"I suspect we're going to see a bit of theme here, eh?" Constantine asks, drawing a pistol and taking a step toward the mostly-dead Samantha as she mindlessly pulls against the metal panel impaling her and keeping her in place.

As she struggles, the sheet of metal that's speared through her starts to tear at her body, leaving her increasingly shredded and bloodied. It's not just skin that splits as she wrestles mindlessly to close in on them. It's so much worse than that. In her violent struggle, muscle splits and gore spills from her body, leaving her looking all the more like the reaver Oliver's mind has twisted her into. It's enough to make bile rise in the back of Felicity's throat and she honestly has no idea how Thea is managing to deal with this at all, but the younger woman has a spine of steel and an iron will she's clearly inherited from her mother.

"Let me," Thea says, placing her hand on Constantine's gun.

He looks at her in surprise and quirks his head like he's appraising her anew.

"You sure about that?" Constantine asks her.

"Absolutely," Thea says with unwavering confidence as Constantine flips the gun over to place it in her hand.

"You know how to shoot that thing, love?" he asks as she aims and attempts an appropriate stance.

"I feel like I can probably figure it out," she says, her chin held high in defiance.

"Thea…" Felicity ventures warily.

"It's not Samantha," Thea says sharply as she glances to the side in Felicity's direction. "She's been dead for more than a decade. This is a demon that's been haunting my brother the whole time. I want to kill it. It's _my job_ to kill it."

"Okay," Felicity agrees after a beat. "Okay, but let him show you how to do it so you don't accidentally hit something else in your brother's brain, okay?"

The fight saps out of Thea at that and she nods before looking back at Constantine.

"So show me," she tells him, readjusting her grip on the gun as she speaks.

Constantine glances toward the reaver before looking at Felicity like he's seeking her approval. It's funny. She hadn't thought of Constantine as the sort of guy who looked to _anyone_ for permission, but he seems to see her as some sort of authoritative figure in Thea's life. And… okay that's questionable in it's accuracy, but Thea's only family is Oliver and in his absence, maybe the role of family support falls to her.

Wow. _There's_ a thought.

Thea wouldn't be all that thrilled at Constantine looking to Felicity for _permission_ to show her how to shoot a gun, so Felicity just nods her head subtly and hopes she doesn't notice. If she does, she doesn't say anything. Which is most definitely for the best as there's a reaver in Oliver's unconscious mind struggling to reach them.

"Hold it like this," Constantine says, repositioning Thea's hands. "Don't lock your elbows or you're going to have the shot go wild. Keep your stance loose so the tiny bit of recoil in this thing won't knock you right over, too, eh? And don't aim for the head. Go for the middle."

"I can handle it. I'm not going to miss," Thea declares, to which Constantine just shakes his head.

"Now's not the time to be provin' yourself," Constantine cautions.

Just then a horrific wet ripping sound fills the room and Felicity turns to find Samantha's battered form has completely torn through. Her left arm and a large part of her side slides down the sheet of metal with a sickening thud while the rest of her corpse lunges toward them with a primal kind of hunger that terrifies Felicity on an instinctive level. This is predator and prey. This is a starving carnivore at hunt and it sets the hairs on Felicity's arms on end with a base level of alertness.

Thea, however, handles it all far more coolly.

Samantha charges, Felicity clearly in her sights, and Thea aims the gun with a kind of calculating determination that would make Felicity think solidly of Moira Queen if she'd had the presence of mind to think of anything other than basic survival instincts. But Thea's focus is unwavering.

And so is her shot.

Samantha is barely a foot from the gun and scarcely further away from Felicity than that when Constantine's gun rings out with a loud bang that echoes in Felicity's ears.

The hit is solid, straight into Samantha's temple, but instead of a spray of blood and brains, silvery gossamer threads of _something_ spill from her head. And in the moment before Samantha's figure dissolves entirely, melts away into an ocean of quicksilver, she looks to Thea with sheer surprise written across her face.

"You almost killed my brother. You've haunted him for _years_ ," Thea tells the ghost. "You can't have him now and you can't have Felicity either. They both deserve better than you. And so do I."

Maybe it's the bullet or maybe it's the words, but something melts the demon away. It's disturbing, the way bits of her skin turn to liquid steel, slide away until there's nothing left, but it's nothing compared to the gruesome tableau earlier and Felicity sighs a breath of relief as the rest of the shuttle loses its solid form around them.

"I didn't see it at first, you know," Constantine offers up as Oliver's ghostly form fades away into nothingness behind him. "There's not much of a likeness between you and your brother. But now… now I see it. And it's not the aim, love. It's the determination, the spirit."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Thea replies, handing him back his gun with shaking hands.

Her lofty voice tries and fails to seem unaffected by what she's just done, but Felicity knows better. Demon or not, she just shot the ghostly image of her former babysitter turned reaver. Thea's strong, but she's still human. This wasn't her breaking point, but Felicity can't help but wonder what is. She wraps her arm around the younger woman and presses her forehead against Thea's temple, feeling the tension sap out of her at the movement.

"You did a good job, Thea," Felicity assures her quietly. "Oliver is going to be proud of you."

There's a little choked noise from Thea, but she says nothing otherwise, nodding slightly in affirmation instead.

Felicity wants to say more, wants to reassure her further, but she knows better than to push. Thea doesn't do vulnerability well. She gets angry in the face of it, bristles or runs or both. They can't have that right now. There's far too much at stake.

"Hate to break this up, ladies. Really, I do," Constantine says with a worn grimace. "But Oliver's mind is shifting. We need to be at the ready."

And, indeed, he's right. A whirlpool of silver spins around the two women leaving a startling span of nothingness directly beneath them. They don't fall, though. The laws of physics clearly aren't at play in this place. But it leaves Felicity's stomach lurching in the anticipation of a sudden drop. While she's grateful that they _don't_ , it's still horribly unsettling.

"I don't think he wants us here," Thea notes, watching the way the gunmetal liquid creates an eddy, pulling away so it doesn't touch them.

"I have no doubt he _never_ wanted us here," Felicity points out. " _He_ doesn't even want to be here. That's why he's hiding. He definitely doesn't want it for us. He's just learning how to adapt, how to interact."

"Clever girl," Constantine agrees. "A man like Oliver… his demons aren't limited to shuttle accidents and negligence. I've got no doubt there's quite a lot of his demons he won't want the two of you seeing."

"So what does that mean for us?" Thea questions, their words pulling her into the present as the tremors subside from her body.

"Might help us, actually," Constantine says. "He might make himself known to spare the two of you some of his worst memories. Or…"

"Or?" Felicity asks.

"Well… or he'll try to push us out of his mind and maybe kill all three of us," Constantine acknowledges with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Oh, is that all?" Thea asks in a dry, unaffected tone.

"He wouldn't do anything to endanger us," Felicity counters. "You _know_ that, Thea. He'd do anything to protect you. You mean more to him than anything in the whole 'verse. He loves you."

Thea actually looks a little abashed at her words and it leaves Felicity wondering when the last time was that anyone other than Roy or Oliver himself told her she was loved without some kind of agenda behind it. She doubts that Moira was ever particularly open with her feelings and the more she sees of Oliver's mind, the more she's convinced that Robert Queen's focus had pretty much always been Robert Queen. So where had that left the Queen siblings? Both of them had rebelled their way into adulthood. Oliver had endured far worse than Thea, undoubtedly, but Felicity can't help but think that his love for his sister, the open way he's always expressed that, has helped smooth out her path.

"He loves you, too," Thea points out, deflecting the attention from herself. "Hopefully he realizes what pushing us out of his head would do to us."

"Oh… I imagine he's got some idea," Constantine says cryptically as a new scene starts to form around them.

It's slow, this time, the way the setting materializes. Once it does, Felicity wonders if Oliver himself was actively trying to stop it. It's possible. She can't imagine he'd be all that thrilled to see his 20-ish self in bed with two women.

"Oh _ew_ ," Thea shudders, covering her eyes and turning away. " _Seriously_ Ollie?"

The instinct to look away isn't limited to Thea. It's Felicity's first reaction, too. But only for a moment. Because then… then she remembers all of these memories are the worst of what he's been through. And as much as she really isn't all that thrilled to witness any of his past liaisons firsthand, she also knows she needs to help him. So she looks back. Reluctantly.

Constantine, on the other hand, appears to have absolutely no impulse to look away. There's a grunt of approval and he nods his head with apparent interest as his eyes rake over the bed.

" _Really_?" Felicity asks him, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow.

"I'm a fan of debauchery," he says, shrugging with no trace of shame. "And the three of them paint an awfully pretty picture of it."

There's really no response she can give to that other than to shake her head. And she does, but then she looks back to the semi-translucent form of Oliver lounging in post-coital bliss between a brunette and a redhead.

He's young. He's _so_ young. And it strikes her again how much everything he did back in these days was a desperate cry for attention that went wholly unanswered. While later in life, Oliver would face consequences to his actions in _spades_ , he surely never had them before Lian Yu.

"Ollie, can't you like… throw your phone out the window or something?" the brunette asks with a long-suffering sigh as her fingers trail down his bare chest to disappear beneath the blanket.

"Pretty sure your hands can convince anyone to do anything," the redhead smirks back at the brunette, leaning over Oliver to kiss the other girl.

" _Fuck_ , you two are gonna kill me in the best way possible," Oliver groans.

"I honestly cannot listen to this," Thea says, plugging her fingers in her ears, her eyes still pinched shut. "This is going to be one of _my_ worst memories."

It's really not going to rank as one of Felicity's best either, but she has yet to figure out what makes this _so_ bad that it's something haunting Oliver.

They're clearly amping up for another round. The redhead hisses against the brunette's lips as Oliver's mouth latches onto her breast and the brunette's hand moves with clear intent beneath the blanket. And… _yeah_ , she's with Thea. She really doesn't want to watch this scene play out either.

"Oh my god, seriously?" the brunette sighs, sitting back and stilling her hand as Oliver's phone starts ringing again.

"Somebody wants you pretty badly," the redhead notes, running her fingers along his hairline as he groans and lies back against the pillow. "Other than us, I mean."

He reaches past the redhead for his phone and declines the call, but obviously notes the caller's name. Something more serious that looks like regret or guilt flashes across his face for a moment as he stares down at the phone before turning it off entirely and tossing it across the room.

"Too bad for them," he says with forced lightheartedness. "Because right now I'm all yours."

"Right answer," the brunette says with a broad grin of satisfaction.

He answers her with a daring, insincere grin that makes Felicity's heart hurt with how disingenuous it is. He might find satisfaction here - he almost certainly will - but she's absolutely certain in this moment that it won't make him happy. Still… he either doesn't know that or doesn't care. He reaches for the brunette to pull her atop him and the redhead straddles his thighs behind the other girl, kissing her neck and reaching between her and Oliver doing _something_ that leaves the brunette moaning in appreciation and tilting her head back against the redhead's shoulder.

And… yeah, Felicity really hates playing the part of a voyeur, but it sort of can't be helped here and she has to admit that she's starting to wonder exactly how they're planning on this all working out logistically. It seems way too complicated to her.

" _Are you serious_?"

The voice makes Felicity jump because it comes from behind her. Being caught off guard is an incredibly dangerous thing here and, judging by the jolt from Constantine, he hadn't noticed the newcomer's arrival either. Neither, for that matter, had Oliver. Not right away. But at the voice, he sits up immediately and turns a bit ashen, the two women toppling off him.

"Laurel," he says dumbly, scrambling to grab for a pair of pants. "I didn't… This…"

"If you finish that statement with 'isn't what it looks like' I cannot be held responsible for my actions, Ollie," Laurel advises with a quavering voice full of barely restrained violence.

"No, it's just…" he scrambles, tripping over his own pant leg as he tries to simultaneously pull them on and stand. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh _god_ , spare me the drama," the brunette groans, rolling her eyes. " _Obviously_ it doesn't mean anything. You really think that's her problem?"

Oliver looks surprised as his eyes dart back to the two women in his bed. Clearly he'd expected them to stay silent, or maybe slink out the door with shoes in hand, but the brunette clearly isn't the type to keep her mouth shut and Felicity's starting to suspect that the redhead is going to trail after the brunette wherever she leads.

"Ollie… honey… no offense, but nobody thinks anything with you means anything," the brunette advises. "Well… except maybe this poor girl, apparently. Girlfriend, right?"

"Well, I _was_ ," Laurel agrees, folding her arms in front of her and fighting back tears.

Oliver looks torn between contradicting the brunette in his bed and placating an extremely upset Laurel, but ultimately Laurel wins out. Not surprising, given this part of his life so often brought him back to her.

"No, look, Laurel, it was just… just a crazy one-time thing. I swear," Oliver tells her, crossing the room to try and put a hand on his girlfriend's shoulder.

She pulls away and gives him the most loaded look of disbelief that Felicity has ever seen.

"You literally have lipstick from two women on your neck right now," Laurel tells him with red eyes and a gravelly voice. "Are you honestly trying to convince me not to break up with you? How little self respect do you think I have?"

"Laurel, come on. You know I love you. They're nothing to me," Oliver tells her a little desperately. "This is just… this was a mistake. That's all."

"Mmmm, yeah, I'm out," says the brunette, standing up, completely unashamed of her nudity as she grabs her clothes. "If I wanted to see this kind of melodrama, I'd watch daytime soaps. You're fun, Ollie, but not fun enough to make _this_ worthwhile. Call me if you ever want to do this again without the party crasher."

"Really, Jess?" Oliver asks, looking at the brunette with disbelief.

"It's Jessa," the redhead corrects, still lounging on the bed.

"Whatever," Oliver says in annoyance.

"Yeah… that'd be exactly your problem," Laurel announces. "Nothing means anything to you. Is there anything you take seriously? God, Ollie… you're like a joke. And not even a funny one. Just a sad one at this point."

"I'm gonna go, too," the redhead says with a sigh as Jessa brushes past Oliver to head out the door. "Good luck, Ollie."

"That's… right, okay. Sorry about all this…" Oliver says, his voice dangling on the end like he was going to say something else but failed.

The redhead looks at him in amusement as she tugs on her pants.

"You have no idea what my name is, do you?" she asks him.

"God, you're such a piece of work," Laurel hisses at him as he turns a few shades redder in admission.

"It's okay," the redhead shrugs. "You were more focused on picking up Jessa. So was I. You just made it easier. So, thanks for that."

He clearly has no idea what to say to that. He just sort of blinks at her for a moment before looking back to Laurel as the redhead follows along the same path out of the room that the brunette had taken.

"Laurel-" he starts again, but she cuts him off immediately.

"We're done, Ollie," she tells him with way more repose than Felicity might have expected. "This is who you are. You're _never_ going to change. I don't know why I keep thinking you will. You don't respect me. You don't even respect _yourself_. You'll never be more than what you are right now. You're not even capable."

"No that's-" he tries, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

"I don't want to hear it," Laurel tells him. "You're a sad, lost, pathetic little boy, Oliver. And that's all you'll ever be. I deserve better than that."

Something in there wounds him to his core. Felicity can see it as the fight saps out of him and Laurel turns to go. He lets her, apparently realizing there's no coming back from this. Not right now. They'll patch things up eventually, Felicity knows. They'd been together when he'd crashed on Lian Yu, but whatever he eventually does to win Laurel back is clearly not going to happen today.

Laurel slams the door loudly as she leaves and Oliver's ghostly image sinks down onto the bed, resting his head heavily in his hands.

And this… this is the most he's looked like himself since they showed up in this memory. The self-recrimination is obvious on his face and he's hurting. He's hurting so much that it's beyond words, but she can _see_ it - the self-blame, the self-doubt - it infects him like a poison.

"This isn't you anymore," Felicity finds herself whispering. "She was wrong."

Oliver's image brightens a little at those words, the scarcest little bit. But it's a change discernable enough that it draws all of their attention, even Thea's who seems to have decided it was safe to open her eyes and unplug her ears with Laurel's exit.

"Keep talking to him," Constantine orders. "I don't think it's reavers we need to defeat this time. That's not how we ease this particular burden."

Felicity rolls that thought around her head a moment as she looks to Constantine before taking a few steps to the foot of Oliver's bed and crouching down so she's at his eye level, even if he can't see her.

"You did change, Oliver," she tells him, reaching out to cup his face. "The man you are now… he's wonderful. He'd never do this. He grew up and I love him and respect him and trust him with everything I have."

He turns a lighter color with every word she says, even if he gives no sign that he hears her.

"Laurel forgave you for this a long time ago, Oliver," she tells him. "It's way past time you forgave yourself."

"That's true," Thea says, her voice quiet and still a little uneasy from this entire experience.

"You aren't a joke, Oliver," Felicity continues. "And what we have… what we have means _everything_. You aren't a sad, lost little boy. You're just lost. So come back to me. Please, Oliver. Just come home."

For the briefest of moments, he seems like he's looking directly at her with recognition in his eyes. Felicity's heart thuds wildly in her chest at the sight because for a second, for just a second, he's _here._ But it's only for a second. As soon as their eyes meet the whole world fades away into a sea of grey again.

Demons await them and Felicity has no idea what form they'll take next, but Oliver looked at her. He _saw_ her. She's sure of it. And that gives her newfound strength and determination to push through whatever trials lie ahead of them.

"Come on, Oliver," she breathes, mostly to herself. "Help me find you."

The world solidifies around them faster this time, a whirlwind of grey rising up and taking solid, colorful form and Felicity's heart drops a little at the landscape it creates. She had expected it. She'd known they'd end up here. But still… she hadn't been prepared.

"Well, ladies," Constantine says with a heavy look. "Welcome to Lian Yu."


	41. Chapter 41

It's not just reavers that make Lian Yu terrifying. Felicity knows that. She learned the hard way. The land itself holds a sense of foreboding. Shadows shift and the wind screams and it feels very much like the planet is haunted by far more than reavers and bad memories. Maybe the very core of it is rotten, spreading death and suffering out across its rugged landscape.

There's no way she's discounting the possibility, anyhow.

She's been here twice. One time to bring Oliver back to the land of the living after he ran off in the aftermath of Tommy's death. And once when they'd gone to lock up Slade in ARGUS' old prison facility on the desolate planet. This makes two visits too many in Felicity's mind.

Lian Yu has a vicious, brutal life force all its own. She _knows_ this, both from personal experience and a smattering of comments from Oliver over the years that have given her a glimpse of the darkest aspects of the cursed planet. She'd had some measure of what to expect from this part of Oliver's memories. But Thea… Thea had no way of understanding what she was about to face. And Felicity can't seem to find the words to adequately warn her. Still… she knows she needs to try.

"Thea," Felicity starts, eyes darting up the coastline to where the trees seem to lean toward them, dark, hungry branches eagerly trying to draw them in and swallow them whole, "there are things about this-"

" _Woah_ ," Thea interrupts as the air around them shivers and takes on an oily hue. "What the hell is going on?"

"It's Oliver," Constantine says, looking toward the sky with focused curiosity. He almost seems like he's listening to something, the way his head quirks to the side as he stares straight into the more opalescent part of the air above them. Maybe he is. Felicity surely can't claim to understand the man. "He's trying to keep us from seeing something."

"He doesn't want us on Lian Yu?" Thea asks.

"Well of course he doesn't," Felicity scoffs.

"No," Constantine counters, suddenly looking wary as he glances to either side. "There's something else. He's fighting to keep us here instead."

"What?" Felicity blinks, other words not really forming in her mind because that doesn't make _sense_.

"He's losing," Constantine says, nervousness apparent in the other man for the first time since Felicity's met him and she can't help but be more than a little terrified at that.

"What's worse than Lian Yu?" Felicity demands.

"No idea," Constantine tells her, never taking his eyes from the air above them. It ripples outward with silver, oily waves that look like a rock was dropped in some imaginary surface in the sky. "But we're about to find out."

Thea grabs Felicity's hand, possibly for support or possibly for fear of being separated, as the world remakes itself. Wind howls with violent, frustrated fury, blowing at the trees until they dissolve into silvery shards of Oliver's mind that rebuild into something else entirely around them.

It takes a moment for the scene to emerge. The gray liquid builds up in new forms, turns solid, gains texture and color, but soon enough, Felicity knows exactly where they are. She knows exactly what's about to happen. And her heart drops and the blood drains from her face as it all registers.

"Thea, don't look," she orders immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument. As if that would stop Thea Queen.

"What? Why? What's going-" Thea starts before her eyes widen in realization at the scene emerging in front of her and her voice drops to a quiet, childish tone. "Dad?"

"There's not enough air for all of us," Robert Queen says, looking over the controls of a fast-dying escape pod. Felicity can tell from where she stands that the life support systems are badly compromised and she doesn't even have to look to see the nav systems are shot too. They can't see Lian Yu yet. They don't know there's a planet within reach.

"Close your eyes," Felicity demands of Thea with renewed vigor. "Cover your ears. He doesn't want you to see this. _You_ don't want to see this. _Please_."

"Save your strength. You can survive this, make it home. Make it better. Right my wrongs," Robert says. "But you've got to live through this first. You hear me, Ollie? You hear me, son?"

" _Thea_ ," Felicity says sharply enough to finally draw the terrified girl's attention. She nods once, pinches her eyes shut and covers her ears. Felicity pulls her into a tight embrace and holds Thea's head against her collarbone, tries her best to further muffle the impending sounds of gunshots.

"Just rest, dad," Oliver's young, tired voice says somewhere in the background before the first gunshot rings out. Despite her hands covering Thea's ears, the girl jerks in her arms at the loud clap and Felicity knows she heard it.

"Survive," Robert orders in one final command before the second shot booms, echoing in the confined space of the damaged escape pod while Oliver screams.

Thea's slight frame shakes uncontrollably in Felicity's arms and it only takes a moment before Felicity realizes her shoulder is increasingly wet with the other girl's tears.

"It's okay," Felicity tells her, running her hand up and down Thea's back comfortingly like she's a child. "You're okay."

Thea goes to pick her head up off of Felicity's shoulder, but Felicity cups the back of her head to keep it where it is.

"No, don't look up yet, okay?" Felicity asks. "Just… not yet."

The scene is shifting again. Back to Lian Yu, she's sure. But it's jerky, slow, like they're a skipping stone skimming their way across the surface of Oliver's memories. It fast forwards to Lian Yu looming in front of them in space, to the water-logged crash of the pod, to them finally back on the beach of the cold, foreboding planet. But the setting means nothing to Thea. Not right now.

"He said dad died in the crash," she manages, her voice muffled against the fabric of Felicity's sweater. "He said it was an accident."

"Your brother loves you more than anything else in the entire 'verse," Felicity reminds her. "He never wanted you to carry the burden of knowing this."

"My dad killed himself," Thea says, sounding like the words taste foreign in her mouth as she looks up at Felicity. "He _murdered_ someone and then he shot himself."

"He died to save your brother's life," Felicity corrects. "Don't focus on the how."

It's heartbreaking, the way Thea's looking up at her as though she might have all the answers. She doesn't. She has no idea how to counsel the other girl through this. But she knows she has to try. For Oliver. For _Thea_.

"I don't know how to do that," Thea confesses. "How do I push it out of my mind that my father committed suicide?"

"By remembering why he did it," Felicity tells her immediately, putting both hands on Thea's shoulders, in part to lend support and in part to keep her from turning to see where Oliver's ghostly image is now dragging his father's body from the crashed pod onto the shore. "By honoring his sacrifice to help save Oliver now. You can do that, Thea. You're _strong_. And your parents helped make you that way. Both of them. Don't linger on how they died. I didn't know either of them well, but I'm confident in saying that they wouldn't want that for you. Focus on how they lived."

There are obvious flaws in this advice. Not the least of which are the fact that both of Thea's parents had a hand in a massive conspiracy to wipe out nearly an entire solar system of poor planets. But they're Thea's _parents_. And despite their many sins, she deserves to hold on to her best memories of them.

"Okay," Thea nods, fast and fierce with determination that's one part inherited and one part earned. "Okay, you're right. I can do that. We can save Ollie."

"There we go," Felicity smiles. "That's the Thea Queen I know. You've got this. Just… don't turn around, okay? You don't need to see what happened to help Oliver."

Some of the wind drains out of Thea's sails at that comment, but she nods in agreement and that's really all Felicity feels like she can expect from her at this point.

"I can appreciate how hard this is," Constantine says, speaking up for the first time in a while. "But we do need to be ready for whatever demon presents itself next. I'm going to suggest you both stay sharp. The unprepared do not survive this place."

Whether he means the mindscape or Lian Yu, Felicity isn't sure, but ultimately it doesn't matter. Both are probably true and their attention to their surroundings is vital.

"Keep an eye on the sea," Felicity advises Thea. The other girl nods in agreement, looks out toward the ocean with her back to the ghostly image of her brother crying as he drags his father's body across the sand to firm ground.

For her part, Felicity's attention is honed in on Oliver, her heart breaking for him every bit as much as it is for Thea. That he has _this_ locked in his mind, that it haunts him day after day… Oliver deals with a lot, carries the weight of the 'verse on his shoulders, but he doesn't deserve this on replay in his mind. No one does.

"I don't see anything," Thea says, her voice still a little shaky but determined.

"Me either," Constantine says, uneasiness evident in his voice as his eyes skim the treeline. "It's too quiet."

Oliver and his father's body both flicker a moment later as Felicity watches him grieve, overburdened with the task at hand in front of him. The landscape stays the same, though. It's only Oliver who shimmers in and out of existence until, suddenly, he and Robert's corpse both disappear and Felicity lets out a gasp, turning toward Constantine.

But then, she sees Oliver again. It's a loop, she realizes suddenly, locked away in his mind. He's dragging his father ashore to firmer ground again and something clicks in her mind.

"Whatever we're supposed to do, we're missing it," Felicity announces.

"There aren't any reavers," Constantine says confidently. "I feel strange saying that's unfortunate, but at least they're an obvious demon to beat, eh?"

"This isn't that kind of demon," Felicity realizes. "He doesn't need help conquering some physical manifestation of his father's sacrifice. He needs help accepting it."

"What do you mean?" Thea asks, casting a wary glance Felicity's direction.

"I think… I think we have to help him bury his father's body," she announces as Thea sucks in a steadying breath. "I think he needs someone to share this burden. It's too much for him alone. It's too much for _anyone_ alone."

The hesitance on Thea's face is both expected and a little heart-wrenching. This is asking a lot of the girl. But, then again, considering everything she just learned, maybe it's exactly what she needs.

"You never had the chance to put your father to rest before, Thea," Felicity tells her. "You have that opportunity now, to help ease the burdens of your brother's mind. I think you should take it. I think we both should."

A warm breeze that feels like affection completely foreign to this place washes over her and she knows, _knows_ it's Oliver. He doesn't want this for Thea, tried to shield her from it, but she can sense his gratefulness to her for how she's comforted the younger woman and helped her deal with this rewriting of a narrative she'd accepted long ago. The certainty that it's _him_ she feels washing over her only redoubles her determination to save him, no matter what demons that means facing.

"Okay," Thea agrees. "Yeah, I can do that. Dad deserves to be at peace and so does Ollie. I want to help them both. I think… I think maybe I need to."

"Good girl," Constantine approves.

The scene had been about to loop again, Oliver and his father's body flickering like a wave with bad reception, but it stops upon their agreement.

"Just… give me a moment," Felicity says. "Don't look until I tell you to, okay?"

Thea nods and Felicity makes her way over to where Oliver's translucent image is collapsed with grief next to his father's body. She shrugs off her sweater and covers Robert's bloodied head with it. It's not much. It's nowhere near enough. But it's the most she can do to shield Thea from the gore of her father's death.

Lian Yu is cold. She should be freezing without her sweater, but she's not. Oliver's warmth washes over her again like a heat lamp and, this time, it stays, his affection and appreciation warding off any chill that might bite at the air.

"Okay," Felicity calls back to where Thea faces away from her with Constantine standing at her side.

Thea turns and Felicity can see as the girl gulps back a sob. But she blinks hard with determination in the face of overwhelming grief and nods, picking one foot up and forcing herself to walk over to where her father's body lies on the grassy edge of the shore. Felicity has never respected the other girl more than she does in the moment where she bends down and scoops up a fistful of sandy dirt with her bare hands, beginning the slow process of digging her father's grave.

It takes forever. Or, at least, it feels like it does. Felicity can't imagine how long it took Oliver in reality. It's not like he'd had a shovel and at that point he hadn't exactly been used to physical labor. Eventually, though, the hole they dig is deep and long enough to accommodate Robert Queen's large frame and Oliver apparently deems it big enough. He heaves a tremendous sigh, horribly laced with grief and obvious reluctance to place his father in the ground.

But he does.

Thea collapses backwards onto the ground from her previous crouch. Burying her face in dirt-covered hands, she sobs while her brother's ghostly image commits their father's body to the ground.

The Queen siblings are awash in grief and Felicity desperately wants to comfort them both, but she can't touch Oliver. The Oliver she sees… he's not real. Not _now_ anyhow. And she knows that. But Thea… Thea she can comfort.

So she does.

She folds her legs under herself on the damp ground next to Thea and wraps her arms around the younger woman. Thea stiffens at first, unused to leaning on anyone for support, but after a second she clings to Felicity, soil-crusted nails gripping her shoulders almost painfully.

"I want my dad," Thea gulps out, the noise muffled by the press of her face into Felicity's shoulder. "It's not fair. I miss my dad. I miss my mom. I miss Ollie. Everybody leaves me. What's wrong with me? Why do they all leave me?"

"I'm right here, Thea," Felicity assures her, holding her with a fierce protectiveness that feels new but fits their evolving relationship easily. "There's nothing wrong with you. I'm not going anywhere. And Oliver's here, too. He's not leaving you. He's _here_. You can feel him, can't you? I know you can. Close your eyes and focus on him. He's right here with us."

And, indeed, another warm gust of wind washes over them like a caress. It lingers and smells of pine and earth and Oliver. There's no doubt in Felicity's mind that it's _him_. Thea looks up in surprise, her face an uncharacteristically ill-composed tear-strewn mess, so Felicity thinks maybe she knows it, too.

"Promise me we'll get him back for real," Thea tells her, sounding more needy and desperate than Felicity might have ever imagined the other girl could be. "Even if it's a lie. Please, just… I need to hear it."

"I promise you, Thea, that there is no 'verse in which I will ever give up on bringing him back to us, whole and safe," Felicity tells her, eyes boring into the other woman's as she stands and pulls Thea to her feet. "And that's not a lie. That's a fact."

Her words are enough for Thea, apparently, because she nods in almost frantic desperation and clings to Felicity's promises like a lifeline. Something about the way she looks up with so much trust and vulnerability slices right through to the core of Felicity's being. She's never had someone rely on her. Not like _this_. The weight of it is unfamiliar, but she takes the responsibility resting on her shoulders quite seriously. Thea needs her - needs her support, her belief - and Felicity decides with total commitment that she will not fail this girl.

Constantine is watching them both with great attentiveness, Felicity realizes suddenly and she looks back at him in a silent dare to contradict her words. He doesn't though, just smirks and raises one eyebrow instead.

"Oliver's lucky to have the pair of you," he offers up after a moment, slowly seeping away Felicity's defensiveness.

"We're lucky to have _him_ ," Thea says raising her chin in defiance like it's an argument. It's not. Felicity knows better. But this is Thea's way. She's more comfortable fighting battles against imaginary slights than facing the gritty horrors right in front of her. And who can blame her, really, when her life is full of horrors like these.

"Didn't say you weren't, love," Constantine says with a small, sympathetic smile. He reads her well, Felicity realizes. She wonders if he reads _everyone_ well. It's not something she'd put past him.

The air shifts all of the sudden, heat ebbing away, leaving a chill sliding down Felicity's spine. She's not the only one who notices. Constantine looks even more on edge all of the sudden and Thea grips her hand with white-knuckled fingers.

It's a toss up which one of them sees it first, the way the trees push toward them in the distance like a gale force wind bows them over, pushes them to their limits. A wave of green foliage along the canopy hurries in their direction, a tsunami of leaves leaving nothing but the quicksilver memories of Oliver's demons behind them.

"Oh my god, what's-" Thea starts.

"Hold on!" Constantine orders, gripping onto them both and chanting something as the wave overtakes them in short order.

Felicity half expects to be swept away, forever lost in the worst memories polluting Oliver's mind. But she isn't. The violent gust never touches them, instead curving around some kind of yellow-hued translucent bubble that Constantine seems to have erected around them. Color leaches from everything else around them, everything draining to grayscale as the terrain itself blows away in the breeze.

"Ollie!" Thea shouts at the top of her lungs. "Ollie! You have to stop it!"

"I don't think it's him, Thea," Felicity says, her tone breathless and wary as something that looks like a face forms briefly in the silvery material surrounding them.

Just as suddenly as it began, it ends. The world reforms around them, dark and dank and completely absent the earlier warmth of Oliver's presence. But that can't be Felicity's immediate concern. No, that needs to be Constantine, who stumbles a step as he stops chanting and tries to pull himself together.

"Are you okay?" Felicity asks, fully aware that this man is their guide, their only way in or out of Oliver's mind.

"Right as rain," he assures her, holding up a hand. "But you're quite right. That wasn't Oliver at all. That was the demons. The _waters_ , as you call them. And they're most displeased we've made it this far."

"Too bad for them. I'm most displeased they're here in the first place," Thea asserts, folding her arms across her chest before turning to look at the stormy sky. " _You hear that, assholes? Get the hell out of my brother's head!"_

"Well you've got a pair of brass ones," Constantine acknowledges with a thin curl of his lips. "I'll give you that."

Thea looks pleased at his pronouncement, but a moan and a wracking cough draw all of their attention to the nearby husk of a long abandoned shuttle. Felicity goes to take a step towards it, but Constantine puts a hand on her shoulder to halt her and pulls out his lighter, spinning it in the air above his palm and watching where it lands.

"Need to be more cautious from here on out," he warns them both as he snatches the lighter from the air and pockets it. "The demons are taking us far more seriously. They won't give him up without a fight."

"Yeah?" Felicity asks, feeling more than a little defensive. "Well, neither will we."

From the corner of her eye she can see Thea nodding fiercely. The solidarity between them is newly founded but absolute. Few situations could bond two people as closely as this one and it strikes Felicity suddenly how intensely grateful she is for the other woman's presence on this journey. She can't even begin to imagine doing this on her own. Supporting Thea has given her something to focus on, an immediate sense of purpose that she's well aware has kept her mind distracted by the here and now instead of lingering on the terrible 'what ifs' of the future.

Another noise, a whimper, comes from the shuttle again and the sheer pain behind it nearly makes Felicity sick. There's no doubt who it is. This is Oliver's memory, after all.

This time, when she moves towards the derelict ship, Constantine makes no move to stop her. That's a mixed blessing, considering the sight that greets her as she ducks through the long-rusted hatch.

She's seen Oliver shot, stabbed, bruised, beaten and unconscious.

But she's never seen him like this.

He seems _small_. Oliver never seems small. Everything about him is larger than life. But now… he's curled in on himself, pale and dangerously thin, shivering uncontrollably atop the remnants of what once must have been chair cushions. His knee - the bad one - is twisted, discolored in a mottled purple and green, and swollen to the size of a bowling ball. This is, she realizes suddenly, how it _became_ his bad knee.

There's no way he can walk like this. He can't even _stand_ like this. And Felicity wonders how long he's been lying here, alone and clearly in blinding pain. Sweat paints his brow and his skin is tinged green with nausea as he moans mindlessly. He dry heaves, his brow twisting in excruciation, and it dawns on her that it wasn't coughing she'd heard earlier. It was this. The pain is bad enough to make him wretch, but he's got nothing in his stomach to heave up. The thought that it might have been days since he last ate strikes her and a panicky sense of need to help him overwhelms her with its intensity.

Somewhere behind her, Thea sucks in a breath, taking in the scene, but for the first time in a long while, Felicity pays her no mind. Her focus is on Oliver.

"Well… that looks quite unpleasant," Constantine utters in a dramatic understatement.

"We have to help him," Felicity asserts, well aware that her determination is more than a little frantic. "Look at him! He's in pain. He's starving. He's barely _conscious_. He needs help. Oh, Oliver…"

"He gets through this," Thea reminds her. "Somehow… somehow he survives."

"Are you real?" Oliver asks all of the sudden.

For a moment, Felicity thinks maybe he's talking to her.

He's not.

"You can't be," Oliver mutters. "You died. Left me here with your mission. Can't do it, dad. Don't know why you thought I could."

Constantine hums from behind them, appraising the scene with measured curiosity. Felicity's not sure what he sees, but she's far more focused on Oliver than on the mercurial detective. Almost without thinking about it, she reaches forward to touch Oliver's face. To her everlasting surprise, she _does_.

A gasp slips past her lips as her eyes dart back towards Constantine and Thea.

"I can touch him," she tells them, running her fingers through his hair and pushing the sweat from his brow. It chokes her up that she can do this. Never would it have occurred to her how much touching his sweat-stained brow could mean to her.

"That's a good sign," Constantine assures her. "The more solid he is, the closer we are to finding the part of himself he's locked away. The demons have fragmented bits of his soul. Part of it knows we're here, has made its presence know. But parts are hidden, weighed down by too many burdens to face on their own."

"And this one?" Felicity asks, lowering herself to sit on the ground at Oliver's side and stroking down his arm with her other hand. "What weighs this one down? What's this demon?"

"Too much, dad. Too long," Oliver moans, even as he unseeingly turns his face toward Felicity's hand. "I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry. You were wrong. I can't do this."

"Self doubt, I'd say," Constantine announces. "Every man has his breaking point. I'd say this is Oliver's. I'd say he's ashamed of it."

The ache in Felicity's chest intensifies exponentially at that and she leans down to press her lips against his clammy skin. He's strong. He's the strongest man she's ever known. That he faults himself for being human, for having limitations… it makes her want to whisper reassurances into his skin until they sink into him and fill the cracks his self doubt leaves behind.

"Should have been you, dad," Oliver moans, looking straight through Felicity even as she tries to comfort him. "You'd have done better. I can't do this. It's been four days. They were supposed to be back in hours. Can't be like this. Hurts too much, too hungry, too cold. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

"He lives through this," Thea says from her spot near the hatch with widening teary-eyes as she watches Oliver. It sounds like a demand and reassurance rolled into one and it takes only a second for Felicity to realize why.

Oliver uses the scarce bit of strength he has, grunting and gasping in pain as he reaches for something. A gun. He reaches for a gun. The gun his father shot himself with. And Felicity lets out a sob against his chest as she realizes precisely what he intends.

"No. _No._ You are strong," she insists, framing his face with her hands and looking into eyes that can't see her. "You get through this and Oliver, honey, I don't blame you. I love you and this doesn't make you weak. This doesn't make you unworthy. You didn't let your dad down. You didn't let me and Thea down."

There's a sob that might come from her or might come from Oliver or possibly Thea, Felicity's not sure, but what she is sure of is the way Oliver's whole body shakes as he puts the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. The click of the empty chamber echoes louder than a gunshot and Felicity cries as she presses desperate kisses onto his face as he lets out a frustrated wail and pulls the trigger two more times with the same results.

"Can't do this. Can't," he sobs dropping the pistol to the ground with a clattering noise of metal on metal.

"You can, baby," Felicity mutters into his skin, kissing the spot the gun had been pressed seconds before. "You _do_. You're incredible, Oliver. _Human_ , but incredible. Your dad would understand. Given all of this? He'd understand. You never failed him. Not once."

Something in the air shimmers at that, a vibration more than a ripple this time, and the chill in the air diminishes some. Felicity presses her cheek against Oliver's head and looks back at Constantine.

"Is that… did we…" she starts, fully unable to complete a sentence at the moment.

"I'd say _you_ had a bit of a victory there, love," Constantine tells her. "Giving him permission to forgive himself is a powerful thing. Don't underestimate that. Demons feed on negative energy, on secrets. Oliver's got plenty of both, but you and Thea… you're doing a great deal to chip away them."

" _Oliver_?"

An unfamiliar woman walks right _through_ Thea. She rushes to Oliver's side, opposite Felicity, and puts her hand to his brow, her ghostly fingertips passing through Felicity's.

"Who is _that_?" Thea asks, looking more than a little affronted - probably at least partially due to the fact that the woman passed through her and _wow_ is that an awkward sensation.

"Shado," Felicity realizes, sitting back on her heels and letting her hand fall away from Oliver as the woman helps him to sit and puts some of those mystical Lian Yu herbs on his tongue.

It's ill-fitting to let someone else care for him. That's become Felicity's place and she's protective of it. But this… this was long ago and far away and Shado saved his life. So Felicity is grateful to her, even if a part of her resents the other woman. It's irrational, she knows, but - like Oliver - she's human. Watching him in bed with two women earlier hadn't been easy, but it's nothing compared to the way she feels watching him look up at Shado with hope and affection. He'd loved her. She knows this. And she doesn't begrudge him that. But that doesn't mean she wants to see it either.

"I'm so sorry, Oliver," Shado's saying, voice heavy with regret a she touches his face. "Fyres' men were patrolling. They had us pinned down for a day and a half. I got back as soon as I could."

"Slade?" he asks as Shado grabs a flask from her hip and brings it to his mouth.

"Slowly," she urges, pouring a little water into his mouth. "You've gone without food and water far too long. Build up your strength, Oliver. You're going to need it."

Curiosity about how the rest of this moment played out nags at Felicity, but it's lost to history as the scene melts away. It's strangely satisfying and familiar by now, the way Oliver's mind shifts to a sea of mercury around them. It means they've passed a hurdle, defeated a demon, gotten one step closer to finding the parts of Oliver that have taken refuge in the innermost recesses of his mind.

But the relief of it this time is almost overwhelming. Seeing Robert Queen kill himself, burying him, saving Thea from the lake, watching Oliver disappointed in himself - all of those things had hit at Thea or Oliver himself in a way that hadn't really touched Felicity. Not on the same level. But this… seeing Oliver ready to take his own life, knowing that if he'd had a bullet she'd have never met him at all… that's a direct hit for her. That _hurts_.

"He's okay," Thea's voice says suddenly and Felicity looks up from her toes to see the other woman at her side. "That was… _hard_. But he's okay. Don't forget that."

She nods, blinking back tears as Thea rests a hand on her shoulder.

"I can't lose him, Thea," she whispers in confession. "And seeing how close I came to never knowing him in the first place. I just… I can't…"

"Yeah. I get it," Thea assures, drawing her into a hug. "But you _do_ know him. You haven't lost him. Don't lose sight of that in the face of everything else."

Felicity nods, tears burning her eyes as she holds onto Thea, a port in the storm of the trials swirling around them. Maybe the support between is more even than she'd thought.

"Heads up, ladies," Constantine says, interrupting their moment. "This is… a little different."

"This isn't Lian Yu," Thea says, arms dropping from around Felicity as she takes in their surroundings.

"No," Felicity agrees. "It's not."

"Where the hell are we?" Thea asks as a dingy room materializes around them, dim echoes of honking horns and the bustle of city life drift through the mostly empty space.

"Little Hong Kong," Felicity breathes out in realization as she spies some street signs as they form in brilliant neon lights out the window. "Thea, whatever happens, he's still your brother. It might not make sense. There's some things he went through… There weren't a lot of choices for him, okay? He's a _good man_. Don't question that."

"You're scaring me," Thea replies, taking a step back and folding her arms across her middle.

"That might not be ill-founded, love," Constantine says with a wince. "This is a whole lot more like the Oliver I remember. Lian Yu turned him into a survivor, but that place takes its toll in blood, robs you of something. You don't leave there without scars and I don't just mean the physical sort."

He's not wrong. And never is that more evident than when the scene finishes forming, leaving Oliver's hardened ghostly image standing over a bleeding man tied to a chair.

"You know… they recruited me because they said I had a specific set of skills they could use," Oliver tells the man, circling about him like a predator toying with it's dinner. "My first few missions, I didn't really think I had it in me to do this. But you… man, I have to thank _you_ , because for the first time this is _easy_."

"I'm not telling you anything," the man spits, bloodied saliva landing at Oliver's feet. "You can tell Waller I took my secrets to the grave."

"I will," Oliver tells him, leaning down so his mouth is near the man's ear, barely restrained anger shaking his voice. "Eventually. But, let me tell you… it's not going to be quick. I don't give a damn about what you're supposed to tell me. I care that you killed my friend's son. A _child_. You murdered a _child_.

"Now, maybe I _should_ care about whatever you could tell me about your orders or your plans. But I know you won't," he continues. "So that's not what I want from you. What I want is to hear you scream in complete agony. For Akio. For the thousands of people who dropped dead in the goddamned market minding their own business."

With that, Oliver reaches down and bends the man's left pinky finger sharply until it snaps with a sickening crack that makes Felicity shudder.

"They weren't like you and me," Oliver tells the man as he howls in pain. "They were ordinary people with ordinary lives. They didn't deal in blood and secrets and death. But us? That's where we live. So it's my job to visit vengeance down on you that they could never have dreamed of."

When the screams subside into sparse, wretched sobs of pain, Oliver lets the man take three long, steadying breaths before he drives a knife into the man's thigh without warning.

Horror washes over Thea's face, her skin losing color and her eyes widening in shock as her hand flies to cover her mouth. On its own, the girl's reaction to her brother torturing a man right in front of her isn't a surprise.

But it's not Oliver's actions she's taken aback by. No. It's Oliver himself.

With every move he makes, every bone he snaps and every brutal twist of his knife, something of Oliver bleeds away. And what's left behind… what he contorts into right in front of them… it's terrifying.

"Ol… Ollie?" Thea asks, shaking her head as she backs up until her back hits the wall. "That's not… This isn't real."

Felicity wants to agree, wants to reassure her, but if she opens her mouth right now she's afraid the only thing that might come out is a scream.

Because parts of Oliver's skin pull away. Because he's increasingly bloodied and raw. Because every wound he inflicts on the other man strips away a bit of his humanity and what's left in its wake… it's the stuff of nightmares.

Only, of course, some nightmares are real.

"You're right," Constantine says, speaking up where Felicity can't. "It isn't real. Your brother's not a reaver, but right now - in this moment - he surely looks upon himself as one of them."

Felicity's still frozen in place, trying and failing to tear her eyes from the image in front of her as the man she loves contorts into something horrific, something nearly unrecognizable as Oliver. But she can hear Thea in the background. And she - at least - is responsive. Felicity's not. Not this time.

"What do you mean?" Thea demands.

"This is self loathing, pure and simple," Constantine tells her. "He thinks himself a monster for this. You want to beat this demon? You're going to have to show him that he's not."

"Oliver?" Felicity whispers, finally forcing air into her lungs.

"And I think you're going to have to field this one on your own," Constantine follows up.

"What?" Felicity asks, his words sinking in and finally pulling her eyes away from the horrifying scene unfolding in front of her. "No. I… I'm not…"

"It's okay," Thea says, determination etched into every feature of her face in a way that's striking reminiscent of her mother. "I've got this one. I know what I need to do."

"Thea," Felicity says, panicking a little - or, okay, a little _more_ \- as the gravity of the situation sinks in. "What are you going to do?"

She's not sure what she'd expected, if she'd had solid expectations at all. But she definitely hadn't anticipated Thea walking over to a sink and filling a bowl with water before turning back and making her way over to Oliver.

"Clever, clever girl," Constantine praises with quiet delight as Thea wets her hands and pushes some of the gore away from her brother's brow.

"My first memory is you, you know," she says, speaking directly to Oliver. "I was maybe three or four. We were in the garden at the manor and I asked you what happened to dreams when we woke up. You told me they turned into butterflies so that they could still fly around us brightening up our day.

"I believed every word out of your mouth," she laughs as she rinses her hands before bringing her fingers back to wipe swipe across his cheekbones. "You were my whole world. When you died… I'd go out to the garden and just sit there, watching butterflies and wishing I could hold onto dreams a little longer."

Even though she's deeply entrenched in this entire quest to save Oliver, this moment between Thea and her brother is so raw, so private, that Felicity wishes she could give them space to have it alone. But she can't. And _because_ she can't, she notices something.

The noise outside has stopped. The man in the chair is frozen, but not just in pain. The sink Thea had gotten water from has a droplet suspended mid-air. But Oliver… Oliver is moving.

And he's looking right back at Thea like he sees her.

For her part, Thea takes both of their hands and dips them in the bowl of water, watching as the blood rinses away from his fingers.

"You aren't a monster, Ollie," she tells him, looking back up. "You never were. You're _human_. And emotional. And you make mistakes. But you're the one who showed me dreams have life if we let them, too. Don't let go of yours."

Time crumbles away as the two of them stare each other, the universe frozen around them.

"Thea, you don't belong here," he chokes out after an endless moment as she wipes the last of the blood away. His skin knits itself back together beneath her fingertips, leaving him whole and human as he dares a quick, pained glance in Felicity's direction. "Neither of you belong here."

"Oliver," Thea replies with a sad smile and shake of her head, "neither do you."

The look of surprise at her words as he fades into grey is something that will stay with Felicity for a very, very long time.


	42. Chapter 42

While none of this ordeal has been easy, every trial they've been through - every demon haunting Oliver - has made sense. There's been a certain amount of predictability to it, scenes shifting from one instance of regret and burdens to the next, like flipping through an album of Oliver's worst memories. He has no shortage of those, Felicity knows, and she'd been fully braced for another trial like the last few. Maybe it would be Shado's death or the battle when he'd taken Slade's eye, she'd thought. She'd been ready for that. She'd _expected_ that. It would have made sense.

But this… this doesn't make sense. At all.

Felicity's head swims as she soaks in the familiar setting. Her stomach drops like a rock because this doesn't _fit_ and she's so apprehensive about why they're even here that she can scarcely breathe.

"Where _are_ we?" Thea wonders, glancing around.

"A repair bay at QC," Felicity replies hollowly, ignoring the way the familiar smell of engine fluids stings her nose. "This is where Oliver and I met."

" _What_?" Thea demands, questioning eyes fixed on Felicity.

But Felicity can't look back at the other girl. Not now. Not when she sees a younger version of herself exit a short-range shuttle and pull off a side panel. She knows this moment. She remembers every detail of it. It's one of her favorite memories.

"Why are we here?" Thea asks.

"I have no idea," Felicity admits, the words feeling gritty as they stick in her throat. "I don't… I don't know why this would be a demon. This isn't… I mean… this is the _opposite_ of a demon for me and I just… What if he-"

"Hey," Thea says, grabbing Felicity's forearm and drawing her attention. "Don't jump to conclusions, okay? Whatever haunts him about this, you know how he feels about you."

"Do I?" Felicity asks immediately, blinking quickly as her vision blurs. "I thought… I mean, I was sure. I was _so_ sure. But if this…"

"Whatever he regrets or fears here, it's not _you_ ," Thea says more firmly, squeezing Felicity's arm in emphasis. "He loves you. You _know_ that."

Felicity nods hard. The newfound doubt that presses down on her lungs is suffocating, leaves her wishing she could take a deep breath. But Thea's right. She does know he loves her. She just needs to force herself to remember that right about now.

" _Ugh_ , these were supposed to be _dry_ by now," the younger Felicity says examining her nails as she withdraws her hands from the inner workings of the ship. "They might be 'ocean blue' but I didn't want actual waves. Stupid sale brand and its empty promises. I'm betrayed."

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she reaches back into the guts of the ship, red transmission fluid coating her fingers, staining her ruined nails as she mutters something about coupons to herself.

"Felicity Smoak?"

Neither Felicity had heard him coming and both of them jump at the sound of Oliver's voice. The younger of the two smacking her head against the interior of the ship with a yelp.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?"

"Fine. It's a good thing I'm hardheaded," she replies, turning as she rubs at the back of her head. "Well, I think it is, anyhow. I'm pretty sure I can think of a few people who might disagree. My boss, for one, because honestly if I say it's a problem with the transmission and not a coolant leak, it's probably best to not go three rounds with me on it. Otherwise you end up with egg on your face. Not literally. I didn't actually egg my boss. Though the idea is oddly appealing now that I'm thinking about it..."

So far, this is just a stroll down memory lane. Though, admittedly, from a different perspective. This time around she sees more. This time she _knows_ him. She watches the way his eyes widen slightly as he takes her in with interest that he mostly manages to hide behind amusement. Hers widen too, but it's with recognition more than attraction.

Which is funny, because that's not how she remembers it at all.

"Hi. I'm Oliver Queen."

"Wow, I just insulted and possibly threatened my boss in front of his boss's boss's boss's stepson. I'm awesome. And maybe about to be fired," she groans. "I know who you are, Mr. Queen. I'm not sure why you're here, though. Are you lost?"

"That's… not what I said," Felicity remarks, blinking at the unfolding scene before them.

"How is it different?" Constantine asks as he studies their surroundings with alertness.

"It's… cold," Felicity replies, watching the younger version of herself fold her arms and raise an eyebrow at Oliver. "Dismissive. And honestly I was _way_ more flustered because he's… you know..."

"Ridiculously attractive?" Constantine asks.

"Yes, that," Felicity agrees as Thea lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm not lost," Oliver assures the Felicity in his memory. "Well, not in the usual sense anyhow. I'm trying to retrace the route my family took on a vacation when my sister and I were kids. I'd like to recreate the trip for her as a gift. But the navigation system is fried and I can't get any information off of it. I was hoping you could help."

"You want me to pull an old flight-plan from a shorted out nav system?" Felicity asks, skepticism etched into every feature of her face.

"Walter said you were the brightest aerospace and computer expert QC has," Oliver replies with a half-sincere, charming grin as he pulls some electronics out of a bag he's holding.

"I am," Felicity agrees, looking down to the battered ship part in his hand. "Way too bright to fall for what you're trying to sell."

Oliver's face pinches in a way that screams he's retreating from any sort of vulnerability and Felicity sort of wants to smack her younger self for the deviation this conversation has taken.

"That nav system is _maybe_ six months old and it's full of bullet holes. I don't know why you're lying to me, but it's pretty insulting to my intelligence - which you just correctly praised, by the way - to think I wouldn't notice," she says, pinning him with a hard look. "Whatever game you're playing, play it with someone else. I have work to do."

" _What_? No!" Felicity snaps at her younger self as the grease-covered girl and Oliver both flicker and reset. ' _Ugh, these were supposed to be dry by now'_ echoes through the air again and Felicity suddenly feels like she's stuck in a terrible time loop where she wants to smack herself silly. Her other self. Obviously. Or Felicity-shaped representation of her in Oliver's head. _Whatever_. It's confusing.

"I don't get it," Thea says, looking to Felicity and Constantine. "One of his worst demons is Felicity not helping him? It doesn't fit."

"Oh… I think it's a bit more than that," Constantine replies, nodding his head toward where Oliver enters the repair bay in full Arrow gear.

"Felicity Smoak?"

His voice is growly, distorted by the modulator, and Felicity's yelp as her head hits the interior of the shuttle is a a little more startled than last time as she whirls around.

"I need your help," he says immediately.

"Okay, I'm dreaming," the younger Felicity says, forcing her eyes shut and refusing to reopen them. "Or maybe hallucinating. Either way, I'm going to count to ten and pinch myself and when I do I'll be alone with a leaky shuttle again. Or possibly in my bed. Okay? It's a plan."

"I'll wait," the Arrow responds, amusement tinging his synthetically altered tone.

True to her word, she counts to ten and pinches her own arm before reopening her eyes. Oliver, of course, hasn't gone anywhere.

"Word has it you're the best with retrieving data from computers," the Arrow tells her as she takes a step back toward the shuttle. "I need your expertise to get a flight plan off of broken navigation system."

"No," Felicity breathes out, shaking her head. "I can't."

"Your resume says otherwise," he counters.

"Yeah, no, I misspoke. I _can_ , but I won't," Felicity corrects herself, holding her chin high even though she's clearly terrified. "You're a murderer. What in my _resume_ led you to believe I'd help you kill people, because - let me tell you, buster - manslaughter is most definitely not listed in my skills and achievements."

"I'm trying to do good," Oliver insists and, because she knows him so very well these days, the Felicity of _now_ can see past the grease paint masking his identity to the desperate need to be accepted, to be _believed_ that lies in his eyes. The Felicity of _then_ , the one he's manufactured in his head, has no clue about that, though.

"Try harder," young Felicity advises. "Murder isn't justified just because the guys you kill are scum. All that does is make you just as much a villain as they are."

He physically jerks at her words, his frame tense and his jaw tight. The younger version wholly misreads the situation and ends up backing herself flat against the wall of the ship with obvious fear on her face. Years at his side give Felicity the perspective and experience to know that Oliver's reaction is defensive - that her imaginary self has just wounded him horribly. But the version of her that lives in this twisted mimicry of a memory in Oliver's head has no idea of that. This shadow of her, the one Oliver has created on his own, is terrified. Of _Oliver_. And wow does that notion sit sourly in her stomach.

"You should know that I have _not_ failed this 'verse," she tells him. "So if you're going to use me for target practice it sort of goes against your mission statement. But no matter what you do or what you threaten, I'm not going to help a murderer like you. I'm better than that."

" _Wow_ , this is the stupidest you've ever been in your entire life," Felicity snaps at her younger self as the girl fades away again. "And considering that entire mess with the casinos back in high school, that's kind of saying a lot."

"Casinos?" Thea asks curiously, which barely distracts Felicity from where she knows the other version of herself will once again be exiting the shuttle in just a moment.

"Practical applications of math skills are definitely frowned upon," she says quickly before looking back to watch herself emerge from the ship.

"What?" Thea asks, confusion obvious in her tone.

"Counting cards, love," Constantine advises, filling her in. "Casinos tend not to like games of chance working against their favor, but I believe I've just found another reason to value our newfound friendship."

"You can do _magic_ ," Thea points out. "Like actual magic. What would you need to count cards for?"

"I like to maintain a varied skillset," he replies.

" _Ugh, these were supposed to be dry by now."_

"Stop focusing on your nails and _pay attention_ to meeting the love of your life, would you?" Felicity snaps at her younger self. Not that the woman can hear her. That much is obvious.

This time when Oliver comes in, he's in his regular clothes and he's not holding a bag. This time, she supposes, he's not asking for help on the nav system. It changes the dialogue entirely, but she's got no idea to _what_ until he starts talking.

"Felicity Smoak?"

It's oddly satisfying, given the last few run-throughs of this scenario they've endured, to watch this twisted version of herself smack her head on the ship.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?"

The concern on his face is obvious and, this time, he takes a step forward and puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her as she turns on wobbly feet, still rubbing her head. The ramble about hard heads and eggs and her boss still follows, but the non-verbals are all different. Oliver drops his hand from her arm, but still hovers on the edge of her personal space, looking thoroughly charmed as she rambles before looking up at him and letting the words drift off mid-sentence.

"Hi. I'm Oliver Queen."

"Wow I just insulted and possibly threatened my boss in front of his boss's boss's boss's stepson. I'm awesome. And maybe about to be fired," she laughs awkwardly. "I know who you are, Mr. Queen."

"Oliver, please," he corrects. "Mr. Queen was my father."

"Right but he died," she says automatically. "I mean his ship exploded. Which is no better… and definitely not a thing you wanted to be reminded of. But you didn't. Which is why you're here listening to me make a spectacular fool out of myself. I'm gonna do us both a favor and just stop talking now, okay?"

"Please don't," he requests.

"Uh… what?" she asks, thoroughly confused.

"I know… you don't know me," he says, looking full-on _bashful_ in a way that makes the Felicity who _does_ know him want to wrap her arms around him and hold on tightly. "You're always in a huge hurry when you blow through the coffee shop around the corner in the mornings and it seems like maybe you need that first cup before you take in much going on around you? But… anyhow… every morning for the last two weeks I've seen you in there and you're just… I don't know. You don't know me and I don't know you. But I'd like to change that. So, uh, would you like to grab some coffee with me?"

Mindscape Felicity's eyebrows shoot up in total surprise as she blinks at him. Real Felicity's do, too, honestly.

"I don't want to read too much into this. But are you asking me out on a date?" she asks. "Like an actual date? Like a _date_ date?"

He huffs a little laugh of nervousness and tilts his head as his eyes dart past her to the ship before looking back to her eyes.

"Sure. I mean- The implication with coffee being… Uh… That you…." he tries.

"Usually _I'm_ the one talking in sentence fragments," she advises him.

"See, now I'm just wondering what else I have to learn about you," he replies with a little shrug. "Would you like to go for coffee with me?"

Younger Felicity chews her lip for a moment, looking up at him like she's interested but hasn't quite made up her mind. Something settles in her eyes after a moment and the Felicity of later, the one who _knows better_ , is so instinctively mad at this imaginary version of herself that it makes her blood run hot and her jaw tight with anger.

"Oh you're an _idiot_ ," she yells at the representation of her younger self as the woman goes to open her mouth.

And, wow, is she not wrong.

"I'm flattered," the mechanic says. "But I think I'm going to have to pass. I have kind of a lot to do here."

"Wouldn't have to be now," Oliver clarifies, but he takes a step back, fully aware he's being shot down.

"You're… very, _very_ good looking, Oliver. And charming," she tells him. "But you've got one hell of a reputation and I'm not really a notch-in-the-bedpost kind of girl."

"That's not what I…" Oliver starts, visibly taken aback. "Look, I'm not pushing anything. You said no and I respect that. But I don't want you to think this was about getting you in bed. I really did just mean coffee. I know people talk and rumors linger, but that reputation you're talking about was from when I was barely more than a teenager. Everyone makes mistakes then, right? I mean… what were you doing at 19?"

"Graduating from MIT," she replies with her lips pressed together thinly and one eyebrow raised at him.

She doesn't _say_ anything more than that, but her tone surely does. She was graduating college when he'd barely begun the second of three he'd eventually fail out of. She'd been succeeding and fighting for her own future while he'd been floundering in the moment, partying his way through life.

"Oh… right," Oliver says, somehow looking both closed off and thoroughly dejected. "Well then… I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

It's kind of startling how badly Felicity wants to strangle herself. And jarring. Because, really, who has that thought?

"This isn't about Felicity refusing to help him. It's about her rejecting him. Felicity… this is Ollie thinking he's not good enough for you," Thea realizes, looking toward her friend. "That's the demon, here."

"Oh _screw that_ ," Felicity announces, swiftly walking forward until she's between the imaginary version of herself and Oliver.

He starts the flicker, the dreamworld they're in about to begin the loop anew, when she grabs his face with both of her hands and he turns whole under her fingertips.

"Felicity?" he asks, looking thoroughly surprised as he sees her for the first time.

"I _love you_ ," she tells him emphatically. "I love _every_ you. And I will choose you every time. I don't regret any part of our journey together so far and I never will. You make me better. You make me happy. You give me purpose. That could never have been me. I would never have made those choices."

"I don't deserve you. I never did," he says, swallowing hard after the last word. "You know that now better than ever, now. I'm broken, Felicity."

"We're all broken, Oliver. You and I are just lucky that our pieces fit together," she says, stroking his cheek and savoring the feel of his skin under her touch before pausing suddenly. "...I totally didn't mean that in a dirty way, but now that I'm thinking about the words…"

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head at her with blinding amounts of affection beaming in his eyes.

"I will never think that I deserve you," he tells her. "But I'm never going to stop trying."

She smiles, rises up on her toes and kisses him. It's strangely intimate, knowing this is all going on within the confines of his mind. There's something pure about that, something raw and unsullied. She's never been a fan of the concept of soulmates. But considering she's going on a literal quest by fighting off demons inside his soul itself, she's starting to consider alternate definitions of the word. Less fate, more basic compatibility and commitment. More them.

"Ditto," she tells him in a near whisper as they part ever-so-barely, her words ghosting across his lips.

"I wish I could stay. That this could be it. That I could come with you now," he tells her.

"Why can't you?" she asks.

"There's another other part of me you need to find, still," he tells her. "You're close. He's hiding away someplace safe, pretending none of the demons are here. It won't be easy to convince him to leave."

"I think Thea and I can handle it," Felicity tells him. "We're quite a team, you know."

He casts a sideways glance toward his sister who smiles back at him.

"I hope you can," he tells them. "I miss you. I miss both of you."

"We're right here, Oliver," Thea tells him. "We're not going anywhere. Not without you."

"Find me," Oliver says, looking back at Felicity. "Please."

"Always," she promises as he leans down to kiss her again.

It starts firm, so very real. But after a few moments, his lips feel softer, less present, and she knows he's fading away even as he's kissing her.

"No," she protests against his lips, trying to grab his shoulders, but her fingers slip right through him. "Don't go."

"I love you," he says, sounding very far away. "Find me."

And, yet again, Felicity opens her eyes to a world of gray.

"Felicity, are you okay?" Thea asks, rushing to the blonde's side and wrapping a comforting arm around her.

"Yeah, I…" Felicity starts, surprised to find her voice sounds shaky and uncertain. "We've buried your dad, watched Oliver try to kill himself, seen him as a _reaver._ This was… this was just talking, Thea."

"I think we both know it cut a little deeper than that," Thea tells her levelly. And, _wow_ , does she look like her mother when she's calling someone on their bullshit. It's jarring, frankly.

"Comparatively, it wasn't that bad," she argues.

"It was Ollie questioning his own self worth directly in connection with you and your relationship," Thea points out. "Not exactly a walk in the park."

She's right, of course. Felicity looks to her toes and swallows hard as she thinks about what, exactly, she wants to say to Oliver's sister. In the end, it's easier to come up with a response than she might have thought.

"I'm always going to love him more than he doubts himself, Thea," Felicity tells her, looking back up. "He's not easy, but nothing worthwhile is. We'll be fine. Because I'm never, _ever_ going to give up on him."

"I'm glad he has you," Thea says, leaning against Felicity a little in a one-armed hug. "I'm glad we both do. I couldn't ask for a better sister-in-law."

"Thea," Felicity says, turning a particularly fetching shade of pink. "We're not actually married, you know. I mean there's the ring but that's not even… he hasn't exactly asked… for real. I mean we haven't even been together that long, really."

"Are you saying you _don't_ want to marry my brother?" Thea challenges.

"I… did not say _that_ ," Felicity says slowly, feeling Thea's scrutiny keenly. "I just said we aren't there… yet."

"Well," announces Thea, "we'll see how long _that_ lasts after he wakes up."

" _Thea_ ," Felicity says, ignoring the way she can feel her flush darkening further. "Don't push him. I'm happy with us. I'm not angling for a ring… or to keep the ring."

"Me?" Thea asks with a faux kind of innocence that Felicity is pretty sure the other girl has never possessed in her entire life. "Would I do such a thing?"

"Oh my _God_ , yes," Felicity proclaims. "You absolutely would."

Thea's going to say something. There's a twinkle in her eye and a quirk to her lips that surely spells trouble. But all of the sudden, both of those things fade as the world around them shifts into focus and color bleeds into their world.

Retrospectively, they'll both wish it hadn't. They weren't ready.

But it's _much_ harder on Thea.

"He was there?" she asks quietly, taking in the scene before her and letting her hand drop from Felicity's back. "He didn't… I didn't know he was there."

"We both were," Felicity tells the other girl. "Well… I was on the comms, anyhow. You shouldn't watch this, Thea. Constantine and I will handle it."

"I can't look away," Thea says, eyes fixed on the person in front of her. "He's my brother, Felicity. He's my brother and he never knew it. He's _my brother_ and I never got to say goodbye."

As her voice cracks, so does the pavement in the middle of the street. The ground quakes under their feet and everything suddenly snaps into motion, like a switch flips somewhere in Oliver's mind. It all seems too fast to be real, but this is how Felicity remembers the scene, too. Chaos reigns. Buildings crumble and the earth itself cracks open, ripping violent scars across the city.

People fall in their scramble to get away, to get _anywhere_ else as the planet itself shakes with Malcolm Merlyn's fury.

Terraforming has never been a pleasant business. That's why it's done _before_ a planet is inhabited. But if you wanted to wipe out a population and start anew with a fresh landscape, it wouldn't be a bad plan. For a psychopath, anyhow.

When they'd discovered his plan, they'd thought they were in time to stop it. They'd _thought_ it was only limited to one terraforming bomb launched into the solar system's sun.

They'd been wrong. There'd been two. And while stopping _one_ terraforming bomb had surely saved a great many lives, it hadn't saved Tommy's.

"This is where his mother's clinic was," Thea realizes, barely looking at the building behind Tommy before her eyes drift back to where he's helping someone to their feet and directing them to an evacuation point. "Why was he here?"

"He knew what his father was doing," Felicity tells the girl, her voice soft and conciliatory. "Oliver told him… _warned_ him. He'd have been safe if he'd just stayed in the club and kept it in orbit."

"Why didn't he?" Thea asks, watery eyes looking toward Felicity in search of an answer.

"Because he's his mother's son more," Felicity tells her. "I think he felt like he needed to prove that. She fought to save the same people his father tried to kill. Tommy wasn't trying to put himself in danger. He was trying to honor his mother's memory."

"I have entirely too many family members who think self sacrifice is a good thing," Thea manages, looking back at where Tommy scoops up a little girl who's tripped and gets her back to her mother.

"He saved a lot of people, Thea," Felicity tells her. "The club got back into orbit with hundreds of people aboard who almost certainly would have died if he hadn't landed."

"My brothers are heroes," Thea replies crisply. "And I respect both of them for that. But that doesn't mean I don't wish Tommy had saved a few less and gotten himself out instead. It's selfish, maybe, but I miss him."

"We're all selfish about people we love, sometimes," Felicity tells her.

"I can appreciate the difficulty of this moment, ladies, but I'm a little concerned about how exposed we are here," Constantine tells them, eyeing the mass of panicked people racing about the streets.

"The demon won't come from them," Felicity assures him. "This is way more personal to Oliver than that."

And, indeed, she's right. Yes, Oliver feels like he failed all of these people. He must, given how much Oliver takes his mission to heart. But she has no doubt that he feels like he failed Tommy _more_. And that… that's certainly the part of this scene that haunts him most.

" _Tommy_."

It's Oliver's voice and Felicity turns to see him, rushing across debris, making his way through a mass of people heading in the other direction. He's in full Arrow gear, but no one seems to be taking the time to stop and take note of that. They're all far too focused on escaping the planet.

Oliver almost makes it to Tommy on time. Felicity hadn't realized quite how close a thing it really was. Being on the comms had limited her awareness of events as they'd unfolded. Now, though, she watches as the world shakes and Oliver nearly loses his footing when the ground splits beneath his feet. Scarcely more than a few paces away, the building that had once housed Rebecca Merlyn's clinic crumbles, her legacy taken down by the weight of her husband's grief, burying their son in its rubble.

" _Tommy, no!"_ Oliver cries, launching himself toward the debris.

Just as it did last time, the sound of Oliver's voice, the raw denial of it sends a chill sliding down Felicity's spine. This time, though, there's Thea to consider, too. The girl stares at the scene unfolding in front of her, the pile of rubble that sealed Tommy's fate and the panicked way that Oliver claws at the bricks with bloodied fingertips in a futile effort to save his friend.

Her hands shake uncontrollably and Felicity watches helplessly as tears spill over her eyelids and her lower lip quivers. This is too much for her. It would probably be too much for anyone.

"You said you never got to say goodbye," Felicity reminds her. "Maybe you should do that now."

Thea spares a glance at Felicity, not bothering to hide how tremendously affected she is by all of this. Not terribly long ago, she would have. She'd have hidden any vulnerability. But they've both been tested by the trials in Oliver's mind as surely as Oliver has and it's forged a kind of kinship that Felicity would never have expected the two of them to have.

Hesitation does them no favors here and Thea knows it. She takes the few steps to her brothers' sides and kneels down, helping Oliver pull the debris away to slowly reveal Tommy's badly injured form.

"I'm gonna get you out of here. You're going to be fine," Oliver promises Tommy, as if denial in and of itself would undo the damage his father has wrought.

"Tommy… I'm so sorry," Thea says, brushing powdery bits of brick and cement from his brow and choking on a sob as her hand actually touches his face. "I miss you. I wish we'd had more time. We _deserved_ more time."

"Stop," Tommy orders Oliver, glancing down at his abdomen where a piece of steel has pierced him straight through.

"I'm sorry," Oliver manages.

"No, don't apologize," Tommy says, using precious energy to shake his head at Oliver.

"It's not your fault," Thea asserts, looking up at Oliver even as she keeps stroking Tommy's brow. " _You_ didn't fail him. Malcolm did. He failed both of us our whole lives. He's _still_ failing me."

"I shouldn't have let him," Oliver says, looking back at Thea. "If I'd been better… faster… I shouldn't have let him fail either of you."

"Did you kill him?" Tommy asks.

"No," Oliver tells him.

"Thank you," Tommy sighs, a tear slipping down his cheek even as life dims in his eyes.

"You should have," Thea announces, leaning down to press her lips to Tommy's forehead, her tears leaving tracks in the powdery residue coating his skin. "You still should. The 'verse is worse off for Malcolm being in it. Father or not, he doesn't deserve to live."

"No, _no,_ _Tommy_ ," Oliver chokes out as Tommy's eyes shut. "It should have been me. Open your eyes, Tommy! Open your eyes!"

Oliver's grief is overwhelming and so, for that matter, is Thea's. But she's lost one brother already. She's not about to lose another.

Thea grabs Oliver's wrists and forces his attention to her.

"It shouldn't have been you," she tells him. "Somewhere inside, you _know that_. It should have been Malcolm. Don't you dare feel guilty about surviving when Tommy died."

"He was better than me," Oliver manages, his voice thick and gritty with emotion. "You've seen what I've done now, Thea. You know what I've been through. I'm not… I'm not _good_ , Thea. Not like him. If either of us was going to die, it should have been me. He deserved to live."

"Yeah, he did deserve to live," Thea agrees. "But so do you. So stop blaming yourself for living, Ollie. I can't lose both of my brothers. I've lost too much already. And so have you. Those things you went through? Those things you did? They were done to _survive_. They don't make you any less worthy of living. Tommy knew whose fault his death was. And so do I. _My parents_ killed my brother. That's on them, not you."

" _Oliver_ … _I'm so sorry_."

It's Felicity's voice, distant and dim, and it takes a moment for them to realize that it's coming from the comm in Oliver's ear.

"Tommy deserves his sacrifice to be honored, Ollie," Thea adds. "You're both heroes. Go save those people he got to the safety of the club. Get it off the ground. Get them into orbit before the quakes get worse. Make that his legacy. And stop blaming yourself for surviving when he didn't. I lived through this, too, you know."

"I miss him, Thea," Oliver confesses. "He should still be here. He should be with us."

"Yeah," Thea agrees, looking back down at Tommy's form and brushing her fingers across his forehead affectionately. "He should. But it's not your fault he's not. It's my father's."

Everything slows down at those words, like the world is suddenly thrown into slow-motion, but it doesn't go to gray like it did before. There's no sea of mercury swirling about her feet yet. There's more here to be defeated.

"You know better than to listen to her, Oliver."

Standing in the middle of the street, as he most certainly hadn't done when Tommy actually died, was Malcolm Merlyn, confident and arrogant as ever. It is with sudden and absolute clarity that Felicity realizes defeating this demon is going to take a great deal more than talking. Survivor's guilt is a hell of a burden to bear. She knows that as well as anyone, given her whole messy history with Cooper that she much prefers not to think about. She's not sure what manifestation her own survivor's guilt would take, if given form, but she's quite sure that Oliver's solidifies in the the shape of Malcolm Merlyn.

"Your mission is to save the 'verse, isn't it? Not only is that a misguided goal, it's also a futile one," Malcolm taunts. "You couldn't even save the people who mattered most to you. What makes you think you're strong enough to save _anyone_? At least Tommy got people to safety. But you… you couldn't even save _him_."

"Stop it!" Thea demands. "Ollie, don't listen to him. This is survivor's guilt talking. That's all."

But Merlyn's words clearly hit home for Oliver. He looks back to Tommy's unmoving form and tries to pull him into his arms. He can't actually move Tommy much, not with the debris piercing his abdomen, but it's enough that he can wrap his arms around the best friend he'd called his brother for most of his life.

Oliver won't let go of this guilt. Not on his own. That much is painfully obvious as he presses his lips to Tommy's temple and murmurs, ' _I'm sorry'_ into his skin. This isn't a demon he can defeat on his own. It's too deeply ingrained for that.

"Right then," Constantine says, stepping up. "Time for a bit more than words, eh?"

Malcolm's image quirks his head with interest at Constantine.

"You don't belong here," Merlyn observes. "This soul is ours, necromancer."

"We're going to have to agree to disagree on that one, mate," Constantine says before chanting something and blowing a swirl of golden colored dust that materializes in his hand toward Merlyn.

Felicity has no idea what it does, but it clearly angers the demon, which promptly stops paying any attention to Oliver and focuses wholly on Constantine.

The fight that follows is the strangest Felicity's seen and that's saying something. There's a mixture of magic and physicality that's made more surreal by the realization that this is taking place entirely within Oliver's head. But ultimately, swirls of magic and trading blows works to Constantine's favor as he headbutts the demon in the form of Malcolm Merlyn and drives a dagger into the man's gut.

It's maybe a little disturbing how satisfying it is to see Merlyn look down at his own midsection in surprise, watching as mercury-like liquid flows out of him like blood. Constantine gives a little devilish grin as he twists the blade and Malcolm's eyes widen more.

"Get the hell out of my friend, you son of a bitch," he demands.

"You'll never save him," Malcolm insists, even as quicksilver blood coats his lips. "There's too many of us and he's lost the will to fight."

"You underestimate him," Felicity chimes in. "If there's one thing Oliver is, it's a fighter. You're going to lose."

"We'll see," Malcolm replies as his skin fades away and he dissolves around Constantine's dagger.

The world starts to fade away, but something about Tommy pulls at Felicity's attention. He's still unconscious and mostly buried even though he's cradled in Oliver's arms. His wounds are undoubtedly fatal. But the bricks atop him move ever so slightly and she thinks… she _thinks_ he might still be alive. For the moment, anyhow. Not that it matters much, because there's no doubt he's mortally injured. But she wonders… is it simply that Oliver's mind can't quite see Tommy dead? Or had he still been barely alive when they'd left him?

"Come here," Felicity says to Thea as Oliver and the apocalyptic scene around him fades away.

In a move that would have been surprising just a day ago, Thea does. She lets herself be comforted, lets Felicity wrap her arms around her and hold her tightly. Their bond is young, fresh. But they're stronger together. And they both know it.

" _No_ ," Thea protests as the world around them starts to coalesce again. " _NO_. Ollie, I can't do this again. Not this!"

Felicity sucks in a breath and holds Thea closer as the world takes shape. Slade is a few steps away, Thea and Moira both on their knees in front of him. Thea's buried her father, comforted her dying brother, washed the gore of Oliver's self-hatred away from his skin. But this… watching her mother sacrifice herself for Thea's sake, seeing that _again_ … it's more than anyone could take.

"Please… _please_ … Ollie, don't make me watch this," Thea cries, sounding increasingly affected as she clings to Felicity, her eyes shut against the world. "I can't. I can't take it. _Please_."

The moment starts, just as Felicity knows it happened. She can hear Slade making his ultimatum even as she makes soothing noises against Thea's ear and holds her shaking form tightly, lending her strength.

"You were on Lian Yu with Oliver!" Moira realizes.

At the sound of her voice, Thea starts full on sobbing. It's too much, her dead mother's voice ringing in her ears in the moments just prior to her death. Felicity's eyes meet with Constantine's over Thea's head and the two of them look around, trying to figure out how to beat this demon, how they can defeat it as quickly as possible.

But then, the strangest thing happens.

"Please, Ollie… _please_ ," Thea chokes out against the curve of Felicity's neck.

The world ripples. It shudders and dims like it's struggling to exist and Felicity's gaze locks again with Constantine's in a silent question.

"It's Oliver," Constantine announces. "He's fighting this battle himself."

That is, perhaps, the most heartening thing Felicity's heard in _days_. That Oliver is fighting this, for Thea, for himself, is a definite sign that they're close. If he's taking an active role in beating the demons himself… there can't be that much left to their trials.

Color leaches from everything, the world slipping back to quicksilver as Thea picks her head up from Felicity's shoulder and looks around, her tears fading away and hope replacing the sobs in her voice.

"Ollie? Are you there? Please be there," Thea requests quietly. "Please fight to come back to us. You need to let us in. We need to find the part of you that you're keeping hidden."

As if on command, the mercury swirling about them builds itself up again, forming the world anew. In seconds, they're in a brightly lit living room, a picturesque kind of place you mind find in a middle class neighborhood on one of the better off worlds. It's quiet here. Peaceful and bright. Or at least it seems that way until Felicity looks toward the windows to see reavers clawing at the panes of glass in a mindless effort to get inside.

"Where are we?" Felicity asks, eyeing the reavers with wariness in spite of the fact that they're clearly making no progress on getting into the house. "I don't know this place."

"Because I suspect it doesn't exist anywhere but Oliver's mind," Constantine advises. "Unless I'm sorely mistaken, this is Oliver's safe place. I believe we've found the dreamworld he's hiding in. So now, ladies, we need to convince him it's worth leaving."


	43. Chapter 43

An ethereal haze diffuses across the room, giving the home an even more dreamlike quality than the rest of Oliver's mind has borne. Pale, sheer drapes over the windows flutter in some unseen breeze, barely masking the reavers clawing to get in, and the room itself is all light colors that seem to be lit from within. It's peaceful, calm, a surreal contrast to the rest of Oliver's mind and to the clamor of mindless savages desperate to invade this space.

Felicity isn't sure what she'd expected from Oliver's safe space, if she'd has any clear expectations at all, but this isn't it. It should have been, she realizes now. This is Oliver, through and through. He's been denied calm. He's not known real peace in near a decade. It makes sense that his mind would crave the mundane, the easy quiet of a home locked away from the chaos that surrounds his life.

A shelf of what appear to be family photos that refuse to come into focus draw at her attention. She blinks a few times, trying to sharpen the pictures, but it's fruitless. It's all too blurry to make out, like staring through frosted glass. No matter how hard she tries, she can't make it clear. Is it _them_? Is this what his safe place looks like? What his deepest, inner-most desires look like? A quiet house in the suburbs with a mantle full of family photos?

Is that what _she_ wants too?

"Can they get in?" Thea asks, her words breaking through Felicity's thoughts as she eyes the window with distrust. "Do we need to be on the lookout for demons here?"

"No," Constantine tells her, his entire manner backing up that statement as he looks relaxed and unworried for the first time since they started this journey. "Oliver's fortified this part of his mind. He's in control here. We don't need to worry about demons getting in. We need to worry about getting Oliver _out_."

"Then let's start by finding him," Felicity replies, turning to face Constantine, putting the photos and their ramifications behind her.

Ultimately, it's not difficult. It's not _them_ that Oliver's hiding from. But finding him is also no less jarring than being here in the first place.

" _Buddy, lunch is on the table_ ," Oliver's distinctive voice rings out and Felicity full on freezes at the sound of it and the thunder of footsteps that drift down the stairwell.

" _Coming_ ," a young voice answers.

She's not breathing. She's pretty sure on that one. Because a second later there's a boy of maybe ten or eleven years old barreling down the stairs. He's all gangly limbs and slightly floppy hair. His shoes are a bit too large, like he hasn't quite grown into them yet and he nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get to the kitchen.

He's _adorable_ , but that doesn't mean that Felicity's heart isn't going double-time as she processes his existence in Oliver's mind. Is this what he wants? Kids? A house in suburbia? A quiet existence of pottering about in the kitchen? Is this a 'someday' thing or something he wants… _now_.

Those questions are simultaneously terrifying and surprisingly exciting. She's not sure what to do with them.

"Ollie?" Thea asks as the kid breezes past her, his shoelaces untied and his bright eyes clearly focused on his destination. He's obviously unaware of their presence.

"What?" Felicity asks, forcing air into her lungs to ask the question as Thea's single word and its implications work their way into her mind.

"That's Ollie," Thea tells her firmly, pointing toward the boy. "When he was a kid. Before everything. That's my brother."

Felicity turns instinctively toward where the kid is disappearing through a doorway at that knowledge. And _oh,_ something shatters inside her as pieces slip into place. This is Oliver protecting himself. This is Oliver shielding the unsullied parts of his soul from the grimmer aspects of his life. He's trying to hold onto this, the tiny bits of innocence of his youth that are left. It makes her want to hold tight to him, to _both_ of them, to her Oliver and to that pre-teen boy on the verge of _so_ many horrible things, so much pain, so many trials that would break a lesser man. But he's _not_ a lesser man. And as brutal as Oliver's life has been, it's made him into the beautiful person she loves now.

"Interesting…" Constantine says, his head cocked to the head slightly as he starts towards the kitchen. Thea grabs Felicity's forearm and nods at her in solidarity before they follow in his wake.

"...she still messing with that computer? Use a napkin, not your sleeve," Oliver says to the younger version of himself as the three of them pile into the kitchen.

The kid rolls his eyes as he grabs a napkin, but the damage is done. There's tomato soup on his sleeve that makes older Oliver sigh.

"Dunno," the kid replies. "I've been upstairs. Haven't seen her."

His mouth is stuffed with half a grilled cheese sandwich that he's practically inhaled - he's _clearly_ mid-growth spurt - and Oliver's adult self gives him an exasperated, pointed look that the kid clearly interprets correctly because he chews and swallows before speaking again.

"Want me to go see after I'm done?" he asks.

"You mean in about thirty seconds?" Oliver asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Do you even taste the food? Has the soup burned your tastebuds off?"

"Duh," Ollie says, rolling his eyes with typical pre-teen long-suffering exasperation toward adults.

"It's fine. I'll see if she's free," Oliver advises, squeezing the kid on the shoulder as he walks past him and straight through Thea.

"Oh _holy shit,_ that was weird," Thea says with a shudder as Felicity tugs her closer in concern.

"Why can't he see us?" Felicity asks, looking toward Constantine after assuring herself that Thea is fine. "He's been increasingly aware this whole time and now there's nothing?"

"I suspect we don't fit the narrative," Constantine tells her. "He's carefully constructed this little world and excluded everything else. As much as he wants us safe, he's not ready to give up this little… domestic scenario."

" _Felicity, honey… lunch is ready when you are_ ," Oliver calls down the hall, leaning out the door frame to the kitchen.

There's no response, but Felicity feels like her heart is lodged in her throat. She's _here_ , in his safe place. Or, at least, he thinks she is. And, _oh_ , it's surprising how much that means to her. It throws her, sends a surge of protectiveness and want through her that feels anchored in her very soul.

"Soup's gettin' cold," the kid points out - yet again with a mouthful of grilled cheese - dragging her mind back to the present.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees, turning around and walking back to the table. Felicity barely moves out of the way in time to avoid him passing through her. "She gets so into her work. She really should take a break to eat."

"Maybe just bring it to her later," Ollie suggests, using the napkin to wipe his mouth. "Can we go outside today?"

A look flitters across Oliver's face, dark and familiar, far more in line with the _real_ Oliver, the Oliver she knows and loves than this blissful but shallow version who's taken up residence here to the exclusion of everything else.

"Weather's bad outside today, bud," Oliver replies with a strained smile and haunted eyes. "Maybe tomorrow."

His younger self huffs in annoyance and leans back in the chair, languid and put-out.

"We've been stuck inside for _ages_ ," the kid whines. "I want to go _do_ something. I'm going to wither away and die of boredom stuck here."

"It's nasty out there," Oliver counters, setting his spoon down and levelling the kid with a look. "You don't want to go outside. Just trust me on this one, would you?"

"You never want to do anything fun," the kid gripes, using hard motions to dip his spoon into the soup and splashing some over the edge of the bowl in his annoyance.

"I know. I'm the worst," Oliver replies dryly. "Always worried about you and protecting you. How dare I?"

"Ugh, seriously?" the kid asks humorlessly. "Whatever. You can't keep me here forever."

"Just 'til it clears up," Oliver reassures him. "I don't really want to be stuck in here either, but it's nasty out there. Just give it some time."

Felicity looks toward the kitchen window. Like the living room, there are reavers clawing at the glass, their nails torn and fingers raw from their fruitless efforts. Blood runs down the panes like raindrops and she can't help but think this isn't a storm that's going to pass. Not without help.

"We don't fit the narrative?" Felicity asks, looking toward Constantine for confirmation. "That's why he can't see us?"

"That's my best guess," he confirms. "Mind's a tricky place though, eh? It's not like we're in a world of certainties at the moment."

Fair enough, she figures, but his theory is also an easy enough one to test. She shrugs and goes to walk toward the hall when Thea grabs her arm.

"Where are you going?" Thea asks in concern.

"Into the narrative, I hope," Felicity replies. "Just give me a second. I'm not leaving."

Thea lets go, but the look of reluctance on her face softens only slightly. Still… Felicity's pretty sure she knows what she needs to do to register with this part of Oliver's mind and that's way more important at the moment than allaying Thea's concerns. So she walks to the hall and immediately reenters the kitchen.

"Hey," she greets. "That smells great."

Oliver looks to her with a bright smile. So does Ollie, for that matter.

"You've got to be starving," Oliver tells her, standing and walking over to kiss her briefly in greeting. "You've been holed up in that office all day. I think anything would smell good to you about now."

"Sorry," she says, touching her cheeks with her hands, intensely grateful to feel his skin beneath her fingertips instead of passing straight through him. "I guess I was in the zone."

Oliver just shakes his head at her affectionately. "Take a seat. I'll get you a bowl of soup."

"You don't have to do that," she protests.

"I know," he replies, hand sliding down her arm to squeeze her fingers.

"Ugh, you guys are so mushy," Ollie says, wrinkling his nose in distaste, much to Felicity's everlasting amusement. "It's gross."

"You're not always going to think that," Oliver tells the kid.

"Will too," the boy snorts.

"Finish your soup," Oliver counters, his eyes never leaving Felicity's. "And you…" he leans in and kisses her again, his hand tightening around hers as he does and setting her heart aflutter, "have a seat."

She does, pulling out the chair next to the younger version of Oliver and watching him with interest. He's an adorable kid. He really is. And she wonders at the dynamics Oliver's mind has built up here. He's protecting the child like a son. Where does that leave her?

"Is that your second bowl already?" she asks the kid.

"Nope," he replies. "But that's coming."

"You're gonna be taller than me soon," she tells him. He grins hugely in reply.

"Not like that's hard," he sasses.

"Hey now!" she mock protests.

"Truth hurts sometimes," he tells her with a lopsided grin and a one-shouldered shrug.

"No lies there," she agrees, voice a little quieter and far less playful than before.

"Did you finish your project?" Oliver asks, setting a bowl of soup in front of her.

"Almost," she tells him. "I think I'm in the final stages."

"Good," Oliver replies. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," she says, something catching in her throat at the words. He looks at her strangely. He doesn't get it. Not yet. But his hand finds hers under the table, offering the sort of solidarity she's missed from him with quiet desperation throughout this whole ordeal.

"So what are your plans today?" she asks the pair of them, blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down a touch before taking a tentative sip.

" _Nothing_ ," Ollie grumbles with annoyance.

"I thought we'd stay at home today," Oliver says, offering the kid a disapproving look. "Just… enjoy the quiet."

"I'd sort of like to get out," Felicity tells him.

" _Thank God_ ," Ollie says dramatically, looking skyward. "Maybe he'll listen to you."

"Felicity… I don't think that's the best idea," Oliver says, looking nervous.

"I do," she counters. "We can't stay here forever."

His brow furrows in response. This isn't what he'd expected and he's clearly not quite sure how to cope. But that's okay, because she knows now how this needs to go. While it might start with his narrative, it's not going to end that way.

"Not forever," he argues. "Just until it's calmed down a bit out there."

Over his shoulder, she can see Thea watching everything with anxious eyes. She's got to push him. She knows it. And part of her regrets it. Those demons outside… they aren't an easy thing to face. She doesn't wish that on him. But they're real and he needs to face them if he's going to be, too.

"That's not going to happen," she tells him, voice laced with sympathy.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, confusion obvious in both his tone and the way his eyebrows knit together.

"Have you looked outside?" she asks him gently, tangling her fingers in his lending support she knows he'll need as soon as everything starts making sense. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I… honey, I don't know what you mean," he tells her.

"How did you get here?" she prods.

"We _live_ here," he replies immediately.

"Since when?" she asks him.

He opens his mouth to reply but can't find the words he's looking for. It's almost painful to see him realize he doesn't know the answer.

"We just… do," he says after a moment.

"You said I'd been locked away working on a project for ages," she points out. "When was the last time you actually _saw_ me."

"I don't… I don't know," he says after a moment. "A while? Felicity, what are you getting at?"

"What's the last thing you remember before being here, in this house?" she asks.

"That's… why does that matter?" he asks, sounding more defensive than anything else.

She doesn't want to say it. She _doesn't_. But she has to. Because this is how she saves him. This is how she's _always_ saved him, by helping him face the demons that claw for bits of his soul.

"Because none of this is real," she tells him after a beat.

He tries to recoil, automatically denying her words out of gut instinct. But she refuses to let go of his hand and he doesn't fight her grip.

"I think you've been working too hard," he says after a moment.

"Oliver," she sighs, rubbing at her forehead with her free hand in frustration.

"What?" both of the men at the table answer, looking at each other in surprise.

"You didn't recognize him, did you?" Felicity asks the older Oliver. "Was he blurry for you sometimes? Out of focus, maybe?"

"I… Felicity, what's going on?" he asks, looking to her for guidance. And _oh,_ he actually looks scared. That breaks her a little. But it also strengthens her resolve.

"We're locked away in your mind, Oliver," she tells him. "I'm not here. I haven't _been_ here, anyhow. Not until just now. Do you remember the Lazarus Pit waters? Asking us to find Constantine?"

"That's… I'm…" he starts, his eyes darting to his younger self, who is watching with more awareness than Felicity might have expected from the kid. "...I think I hurt someone?"

"Oh, Oliver," Felicity sighs, putting her free hand to his cheek in blatant affection. "You did what you had to so that we could survive. Just like you always do. But the waters did something to you. Something… Constantine calls it demons, they fight for control, make you lose yourself for a bit. That's not your fault. But now you're unconscious. You've locked yourself away in this house in your mind instead of facing those demons. And, until you do, you're going to be stuck here. Without us."

"Us?" he asks.

"Ollie, please come home," Thea says from behind him, startling Oliver as he hears her voice and turns to face her. "We've fought so hard to get to you. And we miss you so much. You don't need to do this. We're here to help."

"Thea?" he asks.

Realizing he can actually hear her, she rushes forward and throws her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"We're here, Ollie. We came for you," she tells him. "I can't lose you. _We_ can't lose you. But you're going to have to fight with us to get out of here."

"I don't understand this," Oliver murmurs, kissing his sister's hair and tightening his fingers around Felicity's. "This doesn't make sense."

"Oliver…" Felicity says, swallowing hard, "I think you need to look outside."

His eyes lock with hers and for a beat he does nothing, but then she raises her eyebrows to emphasize her point and he nods slowly in agreement. Thea doesn't loosen her hold on him and Felicity doesn't release his hand, but Oliver shifts in his seat, looks toward the window and it's obvious when he sees what's going on with vibrant, brutal clarity. His whole body recoils, tenses, as he instinctively pulls away from the incredibly dangerous swarm of reavers at the windows.

"Oh my god," he breathes. "That's…"

"What we have to fight," Felicity tells him with resolve. "Together."

"I told you," Ollie says, from Felicity's other side. "We need to go outside."

"You knew?" Oliver asks him.

"Of course," the kid answers. "I'm you. We both knew this was happening. You just didn't want to see it."

There's so much wariness on his face, so much apprehension, that it makes him hard to read. He's always reserved, but Felicity can usually see through that. Not now, though. And that's a little jarring.

"What are you thinking?" she prompts, watching him curiously.

"That we're all here," he answers honestly. "That we're together and safe right now."

She knows instantly what he means. She can read between the lines.

"We can't stay here, Oliver," she tells him. "You know that right? This isn't real."

"It feels real," he replies immediately, his arm tightening around Thea.

"But it's not," Felicity reminds him. "I get why this is appealing. I do. After everything you've been through… I understand why the peace of this is attractive. But, Oliver… you deserve _real_. _We_ deserve real."

He pauses at that, the raw honesty of it. And she knows he agrees. As hard as this is, he agrees. He just needs a little push to acknowledge that.

"It could be," she acknowledges, dimly registering the way Thea freezes against Oliver's shoulder. "One day. But we need to earn it first."

"Felicity…" he manages, raw and gritty.

"I _love_ you, Oliver," she acknowledges, putting herself out there. He knows that, of course, but they haven't exactly talked about what comes next. "If this is what you want… I think, maybe someday…. we could have it. But not yet. Not now. Not like this."

He does. He wants it desperately. That much had been obvious from the second this bright, quiet house had formed around her. He has no secrets here. They're an impossibility. But the sheer look of longing that passes over his face takes her by surprise anyhow. The way his pupils widen as his gaze lingers, locked with hers… and _oh_ but it drives home the intensity of that want.

Breath catches in her throat and her heartbeat goes double-time as the reality of what she's saying sinks home. This is their someday, a suburban home with sheer drapes, granite countertops and the pattering of feet running down the stairs. It's surprisingly appealing. She'd miss their mission, the sense of purpose it gives. But this… with Oliver, anyhow… she thinks it might be nice. She thinks it might be _more_ than nice.

"Oliver…" she says in a near whisper, his name feeling round and heavy on her tongue and the rest of her words sitting unsaid in her chest.

"Yeah," he agrees roughly, his voice tight and rich with meaning.

"That mean we're getting out of here, then?" Constantine asks, breaking through the intimate moment. "Ready to take on a few demons, my friend?"

"I have to be. Some things are worth fighting for," Oliver replies simply. It's him, in a nutshell, and if Felicity hadn't already been completely in love with him, she's pretty sure that moment would have won her over. "Thanks for coming, John."

"Eh, I owed you one," Constantine says, as though a stroll through his demon-riddled mind were a minor thing.

"This makes us more than even," Oliver tells him.

"Brilliant," Constantine agrees. "Then you won't mind me stealing your girl to runs some tables in New Vegas?"

"Don't push your luck," Oliver advises as Felicity rolls her eyes and Thea huffs out a quiet laugh.

"Had to try, mate," Constantine shrugs. "Now… how about we kill a few demons and get the bloody hell out of here?"

"And how exactly are we going to do that?" Felicity asks, looking back toward the bloodied window.

"Well, that's for Oliver to tell us," Constantine says, leaning back against the countertop.

"What?" Oliver asks in confusion.

"It's your mind, mate," Constantine points out. "It's your show."

That doesn't seem to clarify much for Oliver, but Felicity's got a pretty good idea of what he means.

"You're in control here," she tells him. "Even if it doesn't seem like it, you are. It's _your_ mind, not theirs. But I don't think we're going to get past those demons without you facing them."

Though he says nothing in response, it's clear he's not thrilled with this insight. Still… he doesn't contradict her words either and that says a lot. He knows. Somewhere inside, he _knows_ she's right. And Oliver… he's a fighter, a survivor. If anyone can beat these demons back, it's him.

"I'd feel a lot better about our odds if I had a weapon," he notes.

She would too, honestly. The horde outside seems endless and while she has tremendous faith in Oliver, their odds still don't strike her as great.

"Then get one," Constantine says, like it's obvious.

"I don't exactly have my bow in the pantry, John," Oliver points out.

"Oliver… mate, it's _your mind_. You can have whatever you imagine," Constantine counters with raised eyebrows.

"Oh…" Felicity says, eyes widening and lips rounding as those implications roll over her. "Oliver, far be it from me to tell you how to fight, but I'm thinking there might be slightly more effective weapon options than a bow for this particular scenario."

"You'd be right," Oliver agrees.

As if on cue, the world starts shifting to silver around them. But, unlike before, Oliver remains solid, his hand gripping Felicity's as Thea holds onto his arm. It doesn't take long for things to start to coalesce around them. And, when they do, it's immediately obvious what weapon Oliver's given them.

"This is the weapon we need," he tells them as Verdant solidifies under their feet.

"You're right," Felicity agrees, a light smile playing across her lips. "This is where we belong."

"For now," he follows up, a heavy reminder of the someday-home that lies in their future.

"For now," she agrees.

"The demons are adapting, too," Constantine advises, looking out the windshield. "We've got reaver ships all around us."

"I'll try to hack their systems, shut them down," Felicity says as Thea sits in the pilot's seat and Oliver moves to the gunner's bay. Bow or not, his shot always hits home.

"Mind imagining my ship is docked?" Constantine asks as Oliver takes out a reaver ship's engines and sends it spiraling into another nearby attacking vessel. "I wouldn't mind jumping into the fray."

"Already there," Oliver advises as he takes another shot.

"Cheers, mate," Constantine says before hurrying off.

It's methodical then, the battle that ensues. Felicity hijacks a few ships, disabling them and sending them careening into each other or floating adrift, easy targets for Oliver's shots. Thea's piloting skills are on-point, avoiding debris that might otherwise scar their ship or send them off course. And Oliver… well Oliver's aim is impeccable, his focus absolute. He has something to fight for now.

One by one, they defeat his demons together.

When the last ship falls, blown out of the sky with a brilliant explosion, the shards of light that streak across the sky don't dissipate. They grow instead, expanding outward like a firework that's getting closer until it fills space, blocking out debris and stars alike.

"Oliver…" Felicity says warily as the golden sparks take over the windshield and spread along the interior of the ship.

"It's okay," he assures her, heading to her side and wrapping an arm around her before kissing her temple. "You did it."

" _We_ did it," she corrects, looking up at him.

"Right," he agrees with blatant affection. "We did it."

"So what happens now?" Thea asks, holding on to Oliver's elbow. "What comes next?"

"Next?" Oliver asks, looking toward his sister. "Next, we wake up."

The golden sparks turn blinding, fill the air and fully overwhelm the room. It lasts for a long moment. Felicity can't even see Oliver, she can't see _anything_ , but she can feel him. And when the world dims and her vision comes back it's accompanied by the steady beeping of medical equipment and Digg's voice.

" _Grab the doc_ ," he orders someone as his heavy familiar hand rests on her shoulder. "You okay? Felicity, can you hear me?"

"Oliver?" she asks, because that is literally the only thing in her mind at the moment. They'd done it, right? They'd saved him? He should be back.

She blinks, the world coming into focus, and she's greeted both by the bright blue of Oliver's eyes and the press of his lips to her knuckles.

"I'm okay," he assures her in a low murmur against the skin of her fingers.

"Oh thank god," Thea announces, wasting no time to lean over from her place opposite Felicity at Oliver's side and hugging him fiercely. "You scared the hell out of us, Ollie."

"You amaze me," he tells his sister, kissing the crown of her head before he looks back to Felicity. "You both amaze me."

"I'm amazing too, you know," Constantine says from nearby, leaning against a wall. "But that's hardly the point. Glad you're back, mate."

"John… it's not enough, but thank you," Oliver says with deep intensity.

"How are you feeling?" Felicity asks, running her hand along Oliver's cheek.

"Lucky to have an amazing sister and fiancée who would brave anything to save me," he replies.

Felicity bites her lip, tamping down a smile for a moment before clarifying.

"That's not what I mean," she counters. "How are you _feeling_?"

"Like myself," he tells her. "For the first time in a long time… I feel like myself."

"Good," she grins broadly. "Because I missed you."

"I missed you too," he replies immediately, eyes bright and clear and so very present.

There's more to say. Maybe there always will be. But Simon hurries into the room and the focus of the moment becomes pupil response and bloodwork. That's okay. They have time to talk more later. She's starting to think that maybe they have forever.


	44. Chapter 44

He should probably listen when Simon talks to him. It's not like his body and his mind haven't both just undergone an ordeal of epic proportions. But he doesn't listen. His attention is focused on Felicity, on Thea, on the way they can't seem to stop touching him and keep leaning on each other with a closeness that would have been completely foreign to them a few days ago.

Oliver can't care about blood pressure or whatever Simon's going on about. Not when all the pieces of himself are coming back together. Not when he remembers it all, sees every trial - every gut-wrenching moment - of Felicity and Thea's time in his fragmented mind. They shouldn't have had to go through that. _No one_ should, but especially not them.

And yet… and yet, they made it through. The worst of his life, the agonies he's endured and the atrocities he's committed, they'd survived them all. More than that, they'd _beaten_ them all. And, in spite of seeing him at his worst, it's clear they love him still. It's more than he could have ever dared hope for.

They have always been strong, but he thinks he hadn't understood _how_ strong until just now.

"...overnight for observation," Simon is saying.

"No," Oliver counters, his head jerking back toward the doctor who suddenly has his attention. "No, Simon, I get it. And I promise I will be right back here if I feel out of the ordinary at all. But what we need is our own rooms, a sense of normalcy and a good night's sleep."

"Captain… I don't think-" Simon starts.

"You couldn't find any trace of the waters in my system, right?" Oliver cuts him off.

"He's in the clear, mate," Constantine assures the doctor, playing with an unlit cigarette. "You might know medicine, but I know demons. They've left him."

"You might be a… a _demon_ expert, but I deal in medical facts," Simon reminds them both, his typically serious face even more grim than usual with lines that make him look older than his years. "And we don't exactly have precedent to stand on here."

"I feel like myself," Oliver counters. "And physically I feel fine…"

"But?" Simon prompts, easily picking up on the fact that Oliver's leaving something out.

"But we all just lived through the very worst parts of my life," Oliver tells him. "That's not an easy thing to deal with. And I think the comfort and familiarity of our own rooms would be much better than the medical bay."

Thea squeezes his hand in a quiet 'thank you' and Felicity kisses his shoulder almost absently with a quiet affection that he's discovering he cherishes. He'd almost lost this. He'd almost lost them, almost lost _himself_. Thinking about that now, how he survived only because of their dedication and love for him… it feels like a gift, one he'd have thought himself unworthy of not terribly long ago.

"All right," Simon relents. "But the _second_ anything feels off…"

"I'll be back, doctor," Oliver promises, sliding off of the medical bed and twining his fingers with Felicity's.

"And I'll stick around for a day or so just to make sure there's no lingering effects," Constantine adds. "But I'd wager a hefty sum that this battle is done… you a betting man, doctor?"

Simon ignores him. Oliver isn't surprised by this in the least.

"Are _you_ okay with this?" Simon asks, clearly directing the question at Felicity.

"Yup!"

Her voice is so chipper, so _her_ that Oliver can't possibly help the grin that spreads across his face. She has always made the worst situations more bearable. Never has that proven more true than today.

"Hey!"

It's Roy's voice and Oliver turns to look at the younger man as he walks in the room only to immediately halt when he sees Oliver awake a few feet in front of him. The apprehension on his face makes a great deal of sense considering the last time they came face-to-face, but Oliver winces at the sight of it anyhow.

"Roy," Oliver greets, shifting his feet and plastering a pathetic attempt at an easygoing smile on his face.

"Oliver," Roy counters, still standing stock-still in the doorway and looking somewhat like a cornered wild animal.

Thea pokes Oliver in the ribs at that - surprisingly hard, actually; his sister has knobby elbows - and he coughs and looks toward her before glancing back at Roy sheepishly.

"Sorry about… you know, the attempting-to-kill-you thing," he offers up weakly.

"S'okay," Roy says, his frame loosening some as a bit of the tension ebbs off of him. "Not like you're the first one to try."

And just like that, they're fine.

His sister lets out an exasperated little sigh and Felicity chuckles almost silently against his bicep, but he and Roy don't need a lot of words to sort things out between them. They don't have that kind of relationship. And thank goodness for that. Oliver's pretty sure he's got a long heart-to-heart ahead of him with both of the women at his sides as it is.

"I called him when your sleep patterns changed," Digg advises from a few steps away, making his presence known. "Thought he might want to be here when Thea woke up."

 _You thought you might need him to help rein me in when_ I _woke up_ , Oliver thinks to himself. But those aren't words that need to be spoken aloud. He has no doubt that Digg is aware he knows what was meant, but it's surely not something he wants voiced in front of Felicity or Thea.

"Good call," Oliver tells him, earning a knowing tilt of Digg's head.

"Glad to see you up," Roy says, moving to Thea's side. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she advises. "A bit… emotionally drained, but fine."

"Wanna get out of here? Head back to our quarters?" Roy asks her, eyes sliding toward Oliver like he's expecting him to react.

He doesn't, though, and that's as clear a sign as any that he's free of the waters' influence.

"Actually… I think I'd like a few minutes to talk to my brother first, if you don't mind," Thea tells him.

"Do you want me there or…?" Roy asks, his question trailing off toward the end.

"It's kind of personal stuff, actually," she replies, wrinkling her nose. "But I won't be too long, okay? Meet you back at our quarters?"

Roy chances a glance toward Oliver again, seemingly placated by his lack of reaction.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'll grab us some dinner from the mess."

" _Oh_ , do lead the way, would you, mate?" Constantine asks.

"Nothing Jayne cooked!" she advises them both quickly.

"We've had enough near-death experiences," Roy agrees, leaning over to kiss her briefly. "See you in a bit."

Thea watches them go, sighing a little contented huff of air as Roy disappears the way he came before she turns to find Oliver watching her, clearly biting his own tongue to keep from saying something.

"What?" she asks defensively, running a hand through her hair as if to work out tangles.

"Nothing," Oliver says quickly.

"Oliver, say it," Thea sighs, rolling her eyes and folding her arms.

"' _Our_ ' quarters?" he asks, echoing back Roy's words.

"You should be happy for me that he's that committed to our relationship instead of just using me for sex," Thea says, a distinct challenge in her voice.

"Which is something I'm _very happy_ to pretend isn't happening!" Oliver insists, a little nauseous at the notion. He might like Roy. He might not even mind Roy dating Thea. But she's _still_ his baby sister and there's some things he'd much prefer to have no idea about. Ever.

"How many condoms were in Roy's jacket exactly before you guys got to them, again?" she muses, tapping her pursed lips and Oliver feels a little color drain from his face.

"That's not something I really want to-"

"Seventeen," Felicity interrupts. "And thank you for that, by the way. Much appreciated. Also Roy's got to be like _super_ ambitious because that was supposed to be a really short trip."

"And this is why I didn't want to say anything," Oliver says mostly to himself as he shakes his head, trying to permanently banish the mental images taking root there. "Can we just… not? For the sake of my newly restored sanity?"

The humor at his expense dissipates at that, their smiles fading to something weaker, more tempered. Maybe he's hit a little too close to home.

"Come on," Felicity says, squeezing his fingers. "We should talk. All three of us."

"Digg…" Oliver pauses as Felicity tugs on his arm.

"I got the ship for a few more days, man," Digg assures him, as if reading his mind. "You went through a hell of a thing. You've earned a bit of downtime."

"I've just had a week of it," Oliver huffs a laugh of dry amusement.

"Sure," Digg agrees, walking forward and clapping him on the shoulder. "Just like a vacation to New Vegas right? You're all rested and relaxed?"

There's nothing Oliver can say to counter Digg's sarcasm and Digg knows it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Digg nods. "Take a few days, Oliver. Hell, take a week. I've got Verdant 'til you're ready. We're sifting through intel on the alpha-omega and heading toward Serenity now that we've got a new core."

"They're leaving?" Felicity asks with alarm.

Digg's sympathetic smile makes his answer unnecessary. But he gives it anyhow.

"We're probably a solid week out," he consoles. "But that was always the plan. You knew that, Felicity."

"I know, just…" she starts in protest before words fail her for a moment. "It didn't seem real, the idea of them leaving."

"We make a good team, their crew and ours," Digg agrees. "Can't say I see that ending anytime soon. Two ships are better than one."

"Yeah," Felicity agrees dimly. "I'll just miss them. That's all."

"I fully expect you and Kaylee to be talking tech over waves for years to come," Oliver tells her, kissing her temple and relishing the way she leans into him a little.

She just smiles up at him in response and it nearly reaches her eyes. She'll miss Kaylee a great deal. He's sure of it. She'll miss all of them, but she and the young engineer seem to have forged a special kind of bond, a kinship founded in shared interests and a common tendency toward speaking their minds.

"She's always welcome here, Felicity," Oliver tells her quietly. "Any time you do an upgrade to the ship and the two of you get talking about it, I expect she'll swing by for a visit."

Felicity's smile stretches a little at that. It's still a bit sad, but it's also hopeful, appreciative. And he holds her gaze, glad to see the change in her demeanor, however slight.

"A few days, then?" Digg asks again, levelling a look at Oliver.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "Thank you. If anything comes up…"

"I know where to find you," Digg agrees. "It's damned good to have you back, man. And not just because this captain gig isn't a good fit for me."

"Thanks, Digg," he nods back with respect and affection. There's a solidarity there that Oliver knows he's incredibly lucky to have. It's a rare captain who finds a first mate as dependable as Digg, as good a friend. Other areas of his life might have shown him to have tremendously bad luck, but in this - in his crew, these people he's surrounded himself with, this family he's built from the ground up - he's amazingly lucky.

He will never fail to be grateful for that.

They leave Digg and Simon talking in quiet tones in the medical bay, chatter about Serenity and their journey toward her that he's certain Felicity doesn't want to hear. For all that the three of them have to talk about, they walk in complete silence until they reach Oliver and Felicity's quarters.

He isn't the only one who sighs deeply as he crosses into the room and sits heavily on the edge of the bed. It feels like the end of a journey, like the literal 'coming home' well and truly caps off their most recent trial. They have survived. They are here. They are _home_.

It might not be the same as a two-story suburban home bathed in light, but Oliver wonders if maybe this isn't better. It's _real_ , after all. And that's worth a lot.

Thea doesn't even pause as she breezes in the room. She just keeps walking, right up to where Oliver's sitting and she instantly wraps her arms around him. The height is strange, her cheek presses against his temple, but her hold on him is fierce - protective and loving - and a part of him melts in her embrace. He is so lucky to have her. He has _always_ been lucky to have her. Since the moment she entered his life, he'd known that.

"I don't blame you, Ollie," she murmurs near his ear. "Not for any of it."

The walls he usually keeps up are already thoroughly battered, but that alone would have crumbled the highest parts of them. It's an absolution, forgiveness from one of the few people who can truly offer it to him. Never had he thought she would be in the position to offer that while knowing what she was really offering exoneration for.

"Thea," he chokes out, not daring to pull back and look her in the eye. He's not steady enough for that. He needs a moment to find his footing on this uneven emotional ground. She tries to, though, makes an attempt to withdraw and catch his gaze. His arms tighten around her further, keeping her in place, soaking in the mercy she offers, and she relents quickly, stroking the back of his hair like his mother had once upon a time when he'd been just a boy.

"None of us are perfect, Ollie," she tells him. "You've made mistakes. We all have. But you have the kindest, most giving heart. And I am _so_ proud to call you my brother."

He curves his neck to hide his face in her shoulder and pinches his eyes shut as the words wash over him. God, he's _crying_ , his eyes watering over and spilling across her shirt with relief. He'd needed this, so much more than he'd had any idea of. He feels lighter, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he can take a deep breath for the first time in _years_.

"Love you, Thea," he mutters into her sweater. "Thank you."

It doesn't feel like enough, but it's all the words he has left in him.

She pulls back at that and he doesn't stop her, instead wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and taking a deep cleansing breath.

"I love you, too, Ollie," she tells him. "I always have. Even when there were times I couldn't be all that proud of you. But now? After all you've been through? The man you became because of it instead of letting it break you? You inspire me."

"Thea," he chokes out, looking up at her. It's too much. It doesn't make sense with the person he thinks he is. But she _knows_ him. She knows him as well as he knows himself. She knows him in a way that only one other person in the whole 'verse really does.

His gaze slips past her to see Felicity standing on the far side of the room, leaning against the wall and watching them with pride and so much love in her eyes.

There's so much he wants to tell her. But they'll have their moment. This one is for him and Thea. And a surge of gratefulness washes over him that she so easily allows them this.

"Should I have told you? About dad? About Tommy?" he asks, looking back to Thea.

Thea bites her lip as she runs a hand down the side of his face. But she pauses before answering and that alone is an answer, of a sort.

"Before, I'd have said yes," Thea admits. "But now… I don't know. I couldn't have understood it. Not really. But being there, _seeing_ what you went through, how they… how they died... it gives me a different perspective. And I understand now why you didn't, why you couldn't. I told you already, Ollie - I don't blame you for any of it."

"I'd tell you, you know," he tells her, realizing with some measure of surprise that he means it. "If you had any questions, I mean… we can talk about it. I think, after everything, I owe you that much."

"Ollie, you don't owe me anything," she says placing both hands on his shoulders and leaning forward to kiss the center of his forehead.

"The offer stands," he says immediately.

She steps back slightly, holding his hands in hers. Her fingers are tiny in his, so delicate, but she is strong and - like him - she can handle so much more than it seems she can.

"Before we went in… Felicity and I made a promise not to bring up anything we saw in your head," Thea tells him. "But I have to break that promise."

The surprise must be evident on his face, but what he sees is the way Felicity shifts, her whole body coming to attention and tensing at Thea's words.

"Okay," he agrees easily, feeling as though he's already been stripped raw in front of them both and completely doubting that anything could make him more vulnerable than recent experiences.

"I have to break that promise, because I have to thank you for keeping me from having to relive mom's death," she tells him.

And, oh _god,_ her voice is weighed down by grief she's never quite let out. He knows what that's like. He's lived it. And he can't help but feel like she's helped him past that, in some small way.

"Always," he promises her. "But if you ever want to talk about that… or anything else, I'm here. I appreciate that promise you two made. But you don't need to keep it. Not for me."

"Maybe someday," Thea smiles, though it clearly pains her to do so. "But not now. I am _so very glad_ you're home safe, Ollie."

"Because of you," he tells her, squeezing her hands.

"I _might_ have had a little something to do with it," she says, tilting her head to the side and looking skyward in a poor imitation of being demure that his sister has never once pulled off convincingly.

"You had a lot to do with it, Thea," he tells her baldly, well aware that faking confidence is a way she masks actual insecurities. "You and Felicity both. I don't know that I could have made it back without you. Don't sell yourself short."

"Noted," she says with a little dip of her head, before leaning forward slightly and lowering her voice. "But really, Ollie… if this little journey through your head made anything clear, it's that you need both of us. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware," he murmurs, amused and wondering why they're lowering their voices so much.

" _Good_ ," Thea stresses. "Then you know you need to put that ring on it for real, _right_?"

"What?" he asks, almost choking on a laugh in an attempt to keep his voice low as Felicity looks around the room biding her time until Thea leaves.

"That's the sister-in-law I want, Oliver," Thea hisses. "Propose to that girl for real or I'm doing it for you! And do it _soon_."

He starts to laugh until he realizes that she's _right_. For all that he'd put that ring on her finger repeatedly, he's never actually asked the question. There's always been some reason behind it, some rationalization. But when you boil it down… when you strip it down to the basics…

"You deserve that, Ollie," Thea tells him, decisiveness turning her voice sharp and firm. "And so does she."

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, chancing a look at Felicity who is staring at the ceiling like it's incredibly interesting. "We do."

"Good!" Thea says cheerily and with far more volume, stepping back. "Then I think my work here is done!"

"You don't have to go," Felicity offers. "If you want, I could… go… be elsewhere."

"No, no, no," Thea says, waving off her words. "This is _your_ room. And I have elsewhere to be. Plus, I sort of feel like you two have a bit of talking to do…"

"Thea…" Oliver laughs quietly.

"Gucci onesies," she says quickly. "And that's all I'm saying about that. 'Aunt Thea' has a nice ring to it."

"That's the opposite of you stopping talking about it. You know that, right?" Oliver questions in bemusement.

"Stray thought," Thea shrugs. "Take it for what it's worth."

' _A lot_ ,' she mouths at Oliver and he shakes his head at her in disbelief.

"Go see Roy," he tells her. "Try not to make me an uncle."

"Will do," Thea agrees. "You left us like 16 condoms so…."

"Thanks for that," Oliver grimaces. "We're never talking of this again."

"We'll see," Thea grins, turning toward Felicity and walking over to give her a hug. "Lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure…" Felicity says, sounding quietly pleased by the invitation.

"Good," Thea confirms. "I'm sure I've got a few stories about Ollie growing up that you haven't heard or seen yet…"

" _Thea_ ," Oliver warns, shooting her a glare but only half meaning it. Frankly, there's very little that makes him happier than the idea of Felicity and Thea bonding, even if it _is_ over some of his less flattering teenage exploits that he's _sure_ Thea is dying to share.

"Lisa Plinkerton," Thea says, like she's revealing her trump card and Oliver groans hugely at the name.

"Who is Lisa Plinkerton?" Felicity asks, eyes darting between the siblings.

"Epic crush of twelve-year-old Ollie's life," Thea advises. " _Way_ before he had any game with women. She was sixteen and he was horribly smitten. There _may_ have been poetry shouted up to her window."

"Thank you, Thea… so _very_ much for that memory," Oliver replies, his face reddening terribly as the details of that entire debacle wash over him.

"Oh, it's my pleasure!" she replies cheerily as Felicity visibly tries to keep from laughing. The way her cheeks turn pink and her eyes light up, it makes the wildly embarrassing memory fully worth it. He'd do almost anything to see her face light up like that, he thinks.

"Poetry?" Felicity ventures with interest.

" _Yeah_ ," Thea confirms conspiratorially. "A _sonnet_."

"Who knew you were such a romantic, Oliver?" Felicity asks with a chuckle.

"You should," he counters immediately. "And if you don't, I have some work to do."

The atmosphere decidedly shifts at that, something heavier replacing the light, teasing nature of just moments before. His eyes are locked with Felicity's, open and blatant in his affection for her. She sucks in a breath as she holds his gaze, her eyes widening slightly under his focused attention.

"And on _that_ note, have a good night, guys," Thea says, grinning to herself as she saunters out of the room.

Felicity's eyes never once leave his, not even when the door closes behind her. He doesn't glance toward his sister either. Not when there's this kind of connection between him and Felicity. They're alone, sane and uninjured in their quarters together for the first time since they became _them_. And that feels more like home than anything else has so far.

"You gonna read me poetry?" she asks, clearing her throat before she speaks but still sounding a little gravelly and slightly breathless.

"If you want," he agrees. "As long as you promise you don't have a boyfriend with five years and forty pounds of muscle on me who's going to chase me off."

"Oh _Oliver_ ," she laughs. " _Really_?"

"Yeah… that didn't go so great," he admits sheepishly. "I was faster than him, thankfully, but he was pretty terrifying and in my escape I managed to trample Lisa's mother's prized rosebush _and_ a branch tore through my pants."

Even covering her mouth with her hands doesn't quite muffle her laughter. But it's okay. He doesn't mind. It's been a whole lot of years since then and her amusement easily outstrips any lingering sense of embarrassment, even if it _had_ been pretty mortifying at the time.

"I'm sorry," she manages, biting her lip as she pulls her hand away from her mouth. "I shouldn't laugh."

"It's fine," he tells her. "You're beautiful when you laugh like that."

She flushes a little under his praise and he makes a mental note to compliment her more frequently.

"I still shouldn't laugh," she says, admonishing herself. "That first big crush that never turns into anything always stings a bit."

"Uh… actually…" he starts a bit sheepishly.

"What?" she asks.

"I wasn't always 12 and she wasn't always dating that guy so…" Oliver admits, his voice trailing off.

"Ah…" she says shaking her head a bit. "Something tells me that Thea doesn't know that part of the story."

"I sincerely hope not," Oliver agrees. "But only because it's at least as unflattering, just in completely different ways. That's ancient history. It doesn't matter now. Because right now, for the first time in a long time, I'm exactly where I want to be and with the person I want to be with."

"Me too," she replies easily.

"Come here?" he requests, holding his hand out to her.

She pushes off the wall and walks across the room. As soon as she's within reach, he pulls her close so that she's standing between his thighs and his hands settle on her hips. She ducks her head down to press her forehead against his and breathes out a sigh that sounds like a mixture of contentment and relief.

"It's so good to be _home_ ," she tells him in a quiet voice.

"It really, really is," he agrees, pausing for a moment and mulling over his thoughts before continuing. "You know, that offer to talk about things you saw… that wasn't just for Thea. I appreciate the two of you not wanting to pry, but it wouldn't be fair of me to pretend like it never happened."

"Do you remember it all?" she asks curiously. "You seemed increasingly aware, more _present_ as we went on. But I wasn't sure quite how that would all work once we got back."

"It fits together strangely in my head," he admits. "Like I was in more than one place at a time. In some ways I guess that I was. But I remember it all. I even remember before you got there."

Surprise plays across her face at that, but she says nothing for a long moment, clearly taking the time to choose her words carefully.

"There are things we need to talk about," she agrees finally, settling her hands against his chest and pulling back slightly to look him in the eye. "But the most important thing doesn't have anything to do with your memories."

"Then what…?" he starts in confusion, looking up at her.

"You took a huge risk having Simon put you under," she reminds him gravely. "And I understand why you did. What I don't understand is why you didn't talk to me about it first."

His brow furrows as he takes in her words. It feels so long ago that he made that choice. And it hadn't even felt much like a _choice_ at the time. It had just been the right move, the right way to counter his own lack of control, a reaction more than a plan. He's been doing that so long that it feels like second nature to him now.

"You just saw the worst things I've been through, the worst things I've ever done. None of that bothers you as much as me not telling you my plan?"

It doesn't make sense to him and that must show on his face because the sigh Felicity lets out is tremendous. She looks down to where her hands rest over his heart and his gaze follows to find her unpainted nails toying with the fabric of his shirt. _God_ when was the last time he'd seen her with unpainted nails? Had he ever? Something about that sight underscores the severity of what they've been through and it only serves to confuse him more that _this_ is the part of the experience that bothers her most.

"I know who you are, Oliver," she reminds him. "I've never had any illusions about the kinds of things you've endured, the stuff you've had to do to survive. And… yeah, seeing all of that was jarring. But those things, that part of it… it just reinforces what an amazing man you are to have come out the other side of that so strong and good and wonderful.

"But making a choice to put yourself in a medically induced coma and not talking to me about it first?" she asking, shaking her head before raising it to look him in the eye. "We're partners, Oliver. I had a right to know and instead you intentionally kept it from me. So, yes, I have a problem with that."

There's something about her eyes, something about her voice that drives home how very important this is to her. And he gets it… sort of. At least he does in theory - after all, he'd want to be a part of her large decisions, too. But, in practice, he'd spent five years unable to fully rely on anyone but himself. It's habit, maybe, that he keeps doing that, that he doesn't remember he can rely on the people around him, doesn't remember that he _should_. But Felicity deserves more than that from him.

"You're right," he agrees. She raises an eyebrow waiting for him to elaborate and he clasps her hands between his to buy himself a moment to think. "You know that I trust you. But it's not easy for me to… to be open when I'm vulnerable. I learned the hard way how dangerous that was. Repeatedly. It's hard to unlearn."

"Well…" she says, rubbing her thumbs along his hands. "I think admitting that is the first step in the right direction."

"What would you have said if I'd told you?" he asks.

"Oh, I'd have been mad as hell and I'd have fought you on it," she admits with a dry laugh. "But… it's your life and your choice, Oliver. And I'd have supported you in the end. I'll always support you in the end. I just need to be kept in the loop, we have to _talk_ about the big things."

He licks his lips as he nods up at her, soaking in her words and fully taking to heart how vital this clearly is to her.

"I'll forget sometimes," he tells her. "It doesn't come naturally to me to lean on anyone, not even you, but I'll try. And I'll keep trying. For you. Because you deserve that from me. Just… be patient?"

"I can do that," she agrees, leaning down and kissing him softly before pulling back. "Because you're worth it, Oliver Queen. And I love you. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to call you out on your mistakes."

Oliver chuckles. "I'd expect nothing less. It's one of my very favorite things about you."

"That I give you a hard time when you mess up?" she asks curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"That you don't let me get away with anything less than the best I have to offer, that you never settle," he replies. "You challenge me and you stand your ground."

"Hmmm… good answer," she smiles lightly.

There's a moment of quiet then, where he just savors her closeness, the easiness of their bond, the mostly-unspoken promises of their future together. But if recent experiences have taught him anything, it's that you have to fight through the hard things to find your way home.

"So there's nothing else you wanted to ask about?" he ventures after a moment. "Nothing from in my head you had questions on?"

"Your memories? No," she says quickly, but the hesitance in her voice speaks volumes.

"But?" he prods gently.

"But… but that sanctuary you made yourself..." she starts, clearly searching for the right words before continuing. "I would like to know more about that, about what it means."

Her statement is vague but he knows the questions she's not asking. Is that what he wants? Is that how he pictures their future?

"I didn't realize it at the time, but I wasn't seeing my younger self clearly until you pointed out who he was," Oliver confides, feeling his heart pounding wildly in his chest at the magnitude of what he's about to tell her washes over him. "I thought it was our house. I thought you were my wife. And I thought he was our son."

She freezes, staring at him with wide, beautiful eyes as her breathing goes fast and shallow and her hands tremble a little in his.

"And yes," he continues on. "I want that with you. I want to spend every day for the rest of my life waking up next to you and kissing you good morning and making us breakfast because - honey, I love you but you cannot cook. One day, I want us to have a house that's bright and easy and full of joy. And, if it's something you want too, I want to feel our child kick my hand as your stomach swells with the life we put there. I want all of it. I think I'll be the luckiest man in the 'verse if you want it all, too."

She's very, _very_ quiet and he starts to wonder for a moment if maybe he's been _too_ honest, shared _too_ much too soon. All he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his own heart until she forces a sharp intake of breath and it cuts through his increasing sense of panic because he's pretty sure whatever she says next is going to be the most important thing he ever hears.

"That's better than poetry," she manages after a moment.

"Yeah?" he asks somewhat shyly as hope wells up within him.

"Yeah, Oliver, god that's…" she says, pausing to swallow and withdrawing one of her hands from his to run through her hair. "You make it sound like…"

"Like what?" he asks when she doesn't continue.

"Like you're… you know… _asking_ ," she clarifies with great emphasis and a sharp laugh.

But this is not the moment for humor and he doesn't want to brush this aside.

"I am," he tells her, realizing the truth of his words as he's saying them. "Felicity… _I am_."

Her hand that's still in his starts shaking more and as he slides off the edge of the bed and onto one knee in front of her, he can visibly see her other hand tremor as she covers her mouth with it.

"This ring belongs on your hand. For real. Forever," he tells her. "And I know we haven't actually been together that long. I know it's only been a few months and we've been through some extremely difficult things in that time, but I am absolutely certain that I want you by my side as my partner and my wife for every single moment that comes, whether they're difficult or easy. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you exactly how much."

"Oliver…" she chokes out, eyes watering at his words as her hand falls away from her mouth revealing the most brilliant smile he's ever seen.

The pure joy on her face is answer enough, really, but he wants to hear it in words and she deserves to hear the question.

"Felicity Smoak, will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

Her answer is practically a sob of the word and she can't seem to get it out fast enough. She's overwhelmed, but then again so is he. Her arms twine around his neck as he rises from bent knee in front of her. She's kissing him before he's even fully standing and _that's_ when it sinks home.

 _She said yes_. Felicity Smoak agreed to be his _wife_. He gets to be her _husband_. Once upon a time, Oliver would have scoffed at the entire notion of marriage, he'd _dreaded_ the idea. But now… god, now he can't possibly imagine being happier than he is at this moment. He can't imagine wanting anything more.

" _Yes_ ," she says again against his lips between kisses. "Always yes."

The laugh he lets out is both joy and relief as he kisses her back, an affirmation of this bond they've chosen. It's almost sloppy because they're both grinning so much - too much teeth and too little precision - but that doesn't matter. This isn't about about that. It's not calculated or careful. It's raw, pure emotion in all its messy beauty. And it is - by far - the best kiss of his life because unadulterated happiness surges through his veins like a living thing. He didn't know he could feel like this.

If he lives to be a hundred, he'll never forget the smile on her face, the way her blue eyes shine up at him lovingly when he pulls back so he can see her. It takes his breath away. And he's certain now that it always will.

"How the hell did I get this lucky?" he asks in a reverent tone as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lets his fingertips caress the slope of her jaw until she turns her head and kisses his palm.

"We both did," she tells him, leaning her cheek against his hand. "Because we fight for it, for each other. Because we're partners first and foremost. Because I love you so much, Oliver…"

Her voice actually breaks on his name and he bends down to kiss her instantly as she presses her body against his. She molds against him, this woman who has seen all of him and loves even the rough parts.

They're both lucky. It's true. But he had never dared to hope he could find someone like her. Not after Lian Yu. Maybe not even before. She doesn't care that he's Oliver Queen. She's always looked beyond that.

"Oliver," she says, pulling back briefly before pecking his lips again. It takes a second before he realizes her hands are tugging at the bottom of his shirt. "It's been entirely too long since you've made love to me. Like, _criminally_ long."

"Criminally?" he asks in amusement as he guides her along with him until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sits, pulling her down to straddle his lap. "And I thought we were out to _stop_ the criminals of the 'verse."

"We are," she advises, pushing a hand firmly against his chest until he reclines back against the mattress with a groan. "Which is why you need to be rehabilitated immediately. It's just hypocritical otherwise."

Rather than seeming ill-fitting to the clear path they're headed down, the amusement he finds at her words just serves to make everything more honest and so much better. He's had enough of wild, hormone-driven passion lately. It's _this_ he wants, the connection he's only ever really found with her.

A little squeak escapes her lips as he flips them effortlessly, pushing off the mattress and cradling the back of her head with his cupped hand as they swap positions. The way her eyes go wide as she looks up at him, suddenly flat on her back, would be funny in another situation. But, as much as he enjoys a little humor, he's most definitely focused on bringing her another type of joy entirely.

"There is _nothing_ ," he says, leaning down to kiss the slope of her neck as she sighs and cranes a little to give him more access, " _nothing_ , that I would like more than to watch you break beneath me every single day for the rest of my life."

"Well… _sometimes_ it might be above you," she counters, her legs wrapping around his waist as he groans into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Her breath hitches when he rubs his scruffy cheek against her soft skin and he savors that sound, relishes it for the treasure that it is.

"Sometimes," he agrees after a moment as his fingers work at the buttons of her blouse. "But right now I just want to worship every inch of my fiancee's body, if that's okay with you?"

"As long as I get to do the same," she counters, tugging at his shirt. "I don't need to be worshiped. I just want to be with you, to just _connect_ … and yes, I did mean that how it sounded."

" _God_ , I missed you so much," he says, looking up to catch her eyes as his fingers part her blouse, tugging it down her arms as she pulls his shirt over his head.

"I missed you, too," she reminds him. "But that's over with now. We're both _here_. So stop missing me and _kiss_ me, Oliver."

There's probably nothing that he would refuse her and certainly not that. One of his hands slides up her back to work the clasp of her bra as he leans down to press his lips to hers. It's not the pecks of before. It's substantially more than that. Her mouth parts on a gasp as he tugs gently at her lower lip with his teeth and he's more than happy to take advantage of that opportunity, seeking out her tongue with his own. She works her arms out of her bra straps as they kiss, leaving them skin to skin. It's intensely sexual, but it's also so much more than that.

He honestly doesn't have the words to describe what that closeness does for him, the way it strikes home.

It's not chilly in the least, but her nipples pebble against his skin as they kiss and the hand that had been at her back strokes across her skin until he's cupping her breast, circling his thumb around her peaked bud.

"Oliver," she whimpers, breaking the kiss and tilting her head back, pushing her chest up more even as she tightens the hold of her legs around his hips and wraps her arms around his neck for stability.

She's beautiful like this. She's _always_ beautiful to him, but especially so in moments where she just lets go, when it's just the two of them and there are no walls up, no pretenses at all.

He sighs against the skin of her chest, trailing his lips down her sternum and taking clear note of the way she shifts and whispers a sigh beneath him when he lets his tongue taste her skin. Every moment of this evening will be etched in his mind forever, if he has anything to say about it.

" _Oliver_ ," she says again as he keeps going, kissing down the soft plain of her belly, flicking his tongue out to dip into her bellybutton. " _Oh_."

She _squirms_ at that and he files that away for the many, many future moments they'll have together. He has forever to learn all the places that make her shiver at his touch. But there's no time like the present to get started on cataloguing them.

Hot skin quivers beneath his lips as he presses them lower still, his hands working at the fastenings of her jeans. She sucks in a breath, her belly hollowing out under his lips as his fingers finish with the zipper and he divests her of both her jeans and panties, his calloused fingertips gliding down the outsides of her hips and thighs as he pushes the fabric downward, out of the way.

Something about the ridge of her hipbone calls to him and he nuzzles his scruffy cheek against the soft skin of her abdomen for a moment before tracing the curve of her hip with a careful series of measured kisses. It's slow, completely unhurried, because this isn't about a goal. It's not about climaxing or sex at all, really. It's about this moment. And the one before it. And the one after it. It's about the little gasps and sighs she makes or the way she says his name and runs her fingers through his hair. It's about making the most of every single second of this experience. He's pretty sure he could do this for hours and never get bored.

Not watching her isn't an option, though. He's always drawn to her, in virtually every way. He has been since pretty much the moment they met, even though it had seemed incredibly inconvenient at the time, but now… now there's nothing he wants more than to see her happy. To see how he _makes_ her happy.

Lifting his head slightly, his gaze catches hers as her leg falls to the side in clear invitation and he trails his lips down the inside of her thigh toward her knee.

" _Oliver_ ," she sighs, her fingers ghosting across the edge of his ear before tripping down his neck to scrape her nails against his shoulder.

He's intently kissing the underside of her bent knee, experimentally letting his tongue dart out to tease along the sensitive crease. She shivers and her fingernails bite a little into his shoulder, something that utterly thrills him because he's very much adoring looking for new ways to draw reactions from her body, but she's not entirely on the same page as him with that.

"As _awesome_ as this is - and… it totally is - you really don't have to do anything to turn me on right now, Oliver," she advises him, trailing her nails down to his collarbone. "I've been 100-percent ready for you to make love to me since the second you asked me to become Felicity Queen."

Oh _holy shit._ Those words coming out of her mouth _do_ something to him. His fingers actually spasm against her thigh and he can _feel_ his pupils dilate as a rush of something floods his veins and his breathing goes shallow.

"Say it again?" It's more a growl than a request and she obviously picks up immediately on how affected he is by her words.

"I'm going to be Felicity Queen," she says slowly, dragging the words out, clearly enjoying his reaction as much as he'd been enjoying hers a few moments prior. "I'm going to be your _wife_."

He lets her leg go at that, crawls his way back up her body until they're eye-to-eye, his nose brushing against hers. There's a moment where it's all almost too much. He has to shut his eyes and just breathe her in.

"I'm going to marry you, Oliver," she says, her lips close enough to his that he can feel the heat of her breath when she talks. "Someday I'm going to carry our children. And I'm going to spend every day for the rest of my life at your side. Because you and me? We're _it,_ Oliver. Always. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Felicity," he chokes out, barely able to manage her name.

There was a time not all that long ago when he'd thought the only future he was entitled to was one of suffering and unreachable redemption. To have this, to have _everything_ he could have ever possibly wanted with the only woman he's ever wanted it with… it's overwhelming in the best way possible.

Lithe little fingers stroke down his chest until they reach his pants. She has them undone in short order, pushing them down along with his boxer-briefs. A swift little motion from him and they're kicked off entirely. It's only then that he opens up his eyes again to meet her gaze. One of her hands rests against his chest while the other strokes down the side of his face.

The intimacy of the moment has so very little to do with nudity when she's looking at him like _that_ and touching him with nearly chaste affection. He kisses her slowly then, carefully, only closing his eyes at the last second before their lips meet.

Her fingers still against his cheek, undoubtedly feeling the play of muscles in his jaw as he kisses her deeply. Her other hand, though, goes to drag up the line of his spine. A shudder of sensation trails along his back in the wake of her hand and he lets out a small sigh of aroused contentment at the play of her fingers. If the way her legs wrap around his hips and her core presses up against him is any indication, she's more than ready to move this along. As if that hadn't been clear enough, she starts slowly circling her hips, rubbing against him with warmth and wetness that makes his nerve endings feel like they're about to overload.

"Condom, honey," he whispers against her mouth. "Give me a second."

"We're good," she tells him.

He could not possibly be more surprised if he tried and he's pretty sure it shows if the little laugh she gives is any indication.

"I went on birth control the day before you went under, since the antibiotics were finally out of my system," she tells him, grinning as she places a lingering peck on his surprised lips for emphasis. "So no condoms necessary. Let's call it an engagement gift from me to you."

"That's… a really great engagement gift," he tells her finally after taking a moment to find his voice. "Not sure how I can top that."

"Mmm… I'm sure you'll think of something," she smiles, digging her heel into his ass. "But for now…"

" _Yeah_ ," he agrees, eyes fixed on hers as he reaches down with one hand to part her folds and guide himself into her.

The sensations are tremendous. They always are with her. She's soft and wet and welcoming, her body a perfect match for his in every possible way. Her thighs tighten around his hips and her toes run up the back of one of his legs, sending little sparks surging through his skin at her touch.

But it isn't about pleasure. Not of that sort, anyhow. It's about _her_ and it's about _him_ and just being together. It's about the undeniable _rightness_ of that.

Her eyelids flutter and there's a happy little noise that barely escapes through her parted lips, but they never break their gaze. And this… he knows how she feels, because he's the same. Being with her now, like this, there's a kind of unity to it that he wants to hold on to forever. All he wants is to be with her, to drink in how she looks when they're like this. There's nothing in the 'verse that could tear him away from watching her right now.

When her movements start, they're exactly as slow as he'd expected and he matches her easily. They both seem to have a mind to drag this out, to be present in this moment and not focus on the eventual climax. Their lovemaking is almost lazy, aimless. They haven't had the time to be like this before, not really. But now… it's earth shattering in its intensity.

They trade kisses - sometimes sloppy, drunk on each other, other times more precise and teasing - never lacking an understated tone of quiet passion that seems to infuse the very air around them with life.

Neither one of them will ever know how long this goes on. Neither one will ever _care_. They are safe and home and together and healthy all at once and - engaged or not - they both know that's a rarity to be enjoyed in every way possible.

Too soon and endlessly later, paradoxically both at once, her motions start to take on a sharper edge and he knows she's quickly approaching the brink. He twines their sweat-slickened fingers together, gripping her hand above her head as he presses his forehead to hers.

" _Oliver_ ," she whines out as her movements speed up and a flush starts to spread across her skin.

"Come on, honey," he urges in a low, soft tone, snapping his hips more firmly against hers as something blindingly intense starts to coil at the base of his spine and all of the sensations of his body suddenly feel amplified.

"Oh… _oh_ … I… oh _god_ ," she chokes out before taking a few desperate bids for air and going rigid for a moment as her body coils even tighter before cresting.

Instead of shutting against the sensation, her eyes go wide and stay locked with his as she breaks, her pupils near eclipsing her blue eyes. As her hips jerk erratically beneath him and she repeatedly breathes out something that sounds vaguely like his name, that gorgeous flush rushes its way across her body.

He can't take his eyes off of her.

It's entrancing.

She's the most beautiful he's ever seen her in this moment and that's saying a lot. Between joy and sweat-stained skin, she positively _glows_ in the low light of their room and it steals his goddamned breath away.

The flush hasn't even left her face yet when he feels his body rushing towards completion. Everything feels heightened. _Everything_ feels like _more_.

He presses his forehead to hers - her messy curls sticking to both of their skin - as she tightens her hand around his above her head and their eyes stay locked together. She's so close, staring up at him with blatant adoration. She's seen _everything_ of him and she still looks at him like _this_. It's the raw emotional nature of the moment more than anything else that pushes him past the edge and into the most blindingly brilliant orgasm of his life thus far.

Everything goes white except her face. All the rest fades away. All the rest is meaningless. His skin is _alive_. He can feel positively everything as sheer pleasure surges through his body and he empties himself into her.

He can't breathe. He can't _think_. Not of anything beyond ' _This. This. This_ ' as her free hand cards through his hair.

"I love you," she says, the first thing he hears as the buzzing in his ears fades away and his pulse approaches something near normal.

"I love you, too," he tells her as soon as he catches his breath.

"Yeah…" she says, biting her lower lip in obvious delight. "Well give me a few minutes to recuperate and you can love me again."

He barks out a laugh of disbelief at her words, shaking his head before kissing her again and stroking back some of the hair plastered against her forehead.

"Might as well make further use of your engagement gift after all," she adds cheekily.

"Yeah," he grins widely, holding her gaze. "It would be rude to turn down an engagement gift."

"Right?" she asks, smiling back, draping an arm lazily around his neck only to pull it back when their skin sticks together. "Only… next time, maybe in the shower."


	45. Chapter 45

Morning - or some approximation thereof, they are on a spaceship after all - creeps in slowly, but that's okay. Neither one of them is in any hurry to get up. After a long night spent repeatedly exploring each other's bodies, finding that perfect moment of unison that leaves them completely in sync, their late start to the day is well-deserved.

But still, sooner or later it _does_ have to start.

"No," Oliver grumbles petulantly without even opening his eyes. His arm curls around her waist just as she goes to sit up and it tugs her back against him.

"Oliver," she protests, something that loses a great deal of its effectiveness when she breaks into a yawn halfway through his name. "I gotta get up."

"No, you don't," he counters, his voice rumbling against the back of her neck, his too-long morning scruff scratching at her skin. "I'm captain and I say so."

She laughs, shuffles to turn in his arms until she's facing him, and he peeks his eyes barely open to watch her. If she was dedicated to leaving the bed, turning to face him was probably counterproductive. Not because he's utterly delicious and wholly attractive - he is, but that's not what threatens to keep her in the bed. No, it's the languid lines of his body, the completely relaxed and sated look on his face. He's not on edge, waiting for another shoe to drop. He's at _peace_ and wow, is that a good look on him.

"We're gonna have a whole lot of mornings to wake up like this," she points out, nudging his nose with hers as his hand ghosts down her arm, setting her nerves alight with little electric jolts that leave a shiver of goosebumps in the wake of his fingers.

"Right," he agrees, smiling with an edge of mischievousness that seems somewhat foreign on his face, but she completely adores anyhow. "Starting with right now."

He's a lot more awake all of the sudden and his hand most certainly doesn't keep drifting teasingly down her arm. No, instead it migrates to her ass, grips firmly and tugs her flush up against him. Even though she's lost count of how many times they've had sex in the last twelve hours or so, even though she's sore practically everywhere in the best possible way, her body responds instantly to him. It's incredible, really, the way arousal surges through her veins in an instant. Will it always be like this with them? Will she always want him this much? This consistently? God, she hopes so.

"You don't really have to get up," he tells her, angling himself so he can kiss her neck while he presses his growing hardness against her with obvious intent.

Her brain buzzes, the softness of his lips and the roughness of his scruff creating deliciously contrasting sensations that momentarily short-out higher brain function. There's something she's supposed to be doing. She knows it - she remembers that much - but _what,_ exactly, escapes her until she spies the clock out of the corner of her eye.

"Oliver," she whines, rocking back against him instinctively as he sucks on her collarbone in a way that will almost certainly leave another mark to match the scattered ones he'd left last night. "I have to go meet your sister for lunch."

He freezes at that and groans into her skin before looking up to lock eyes with her as he sighs. The mention of his sister has an obvious and immediate effect on him, completely derailing his morning plans. That's okay, though. As interested as she is in the prospect of being with him again, her body is feeling pretty delightfully used and it could _probably_ take a break for a bit.

"Is it that late?" he asks, sounding more childish than she's ever heard him as he glares at the clock, obviously willing it to rewind itself a bit. "It's not lunchtime yet."

"It's eleven," she tells him, pecking him on the lips as he flops back against the mattress with a sigh. "She's probably already waiting. And we _both_ know how much your sister appreciates being left waiting."

"Pretty sure she's going to forgive you for being late the moment she finds out we're engaged," Oliver confides, brushing some incredibly wild hair from her eyes.

There's no doubting she has sex-hair this morning. She's pretty sure no amount of brushing is going to fix that, either. This might be the new permanent state of her hair. But, it feels like a small price to pay because _wow_ is she happy. Like, full-on blissfully happy. It leaves her giddy and excited, hopeful for the future in a way that she hasn't quite had before. Not like _this_. Not when everything feels like a promise laid out in front of her.

"Don't you want to tell her?" Felicity asks curiously. "She _is_ your sister after all."

"Honey, one look at you and she's going to know," Oliver predicts. "You're always breathtaking but this morning… it's just different. You're incredible."

She bites her lip against the grin that threatens to completely dominate her face at his words. Truth be told, she _feels_ different this morning. She _feels_ incredible. And she's glad that shows, but more than that, she's glad he sees it. Because he did that. He prompted it. It's _them_ that makes her feel this way and he needs to see that, needs to soak that in and feel the truth of it.

"I think she'd know it seeing you, too," Felicity tells him, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Go meet her before she shows up here," Oliver tells her. "I'm going to… clean up a bit. I'll come join you guys in a bit so she can take credit for the whole idea of proposing."

" _What_?" Felicity asks, sitting up a bit.

"I was going to anyhow," Oliver tells her with a chuckle. "But my sister was definitely pushing the idea, too. Believe me, she's going to be thrilled. She'll probably insist we name our firstborn after her."

"That could get confusing," Felicity points out. "And anyhow, let's not put the cart before the horse. Or, the diapers before the wedding dress, as it were. Someday means… _someday_ , not like nine months from now. I'm looking forward to us just being _us_ for a bit before my waistline expands to previously unknown sizes."

"Which will be gorgeous," Oliver says immediately. "But you're right. There's no rush. I'm happy with how things are. Beyond happy. This is perfect for the moment."

"Good," she replies, pecking him on the lips before backing up and scooting off the bed.

She can feel his eyes on her as she rummages around for clothes and something inside her preens a bit at the way she keeps him fully focused on her. It's definitely flattering. She knows he loves her - without question, she knows this - and she knows he finds her attractive, but it's pretty great to _feel_ that, too.

He groans a bit as she bends down to pick up a shoe that's somehow ended up under the dresser while the other is clear across the room in a chair. And, _yeah_ , she smiles a bit to herself at the reactions she can evoke from him. It's been awhile since he's made a secret of how affected by her he is, but he's so _open_ about it now. She loves that.

"We really did a number on this room," she notes, standing fully and skimming the room with no small measure of surprise. There's a towel that somehow ended up draped over a lamp. She doesn't exactly remember that happening, but she _does_ fully remember Oliver pulling it from her body as they stumbled back to bed post-shower last night.

"Which is why I'm going to clean it up a bit before I join you guys for lunch," he says, pushing off from the bed, unabashedly nude and wholly distracting.

He looks like sex. God, he _smells_ like sex. Their whole room screams 'sex was had here - lots of it' and she really does have to get out of here before she drags him back to bed and Thea comes barging through their door at an incredibly inopportune moment, leading to her never being able to look her future sister-in-law in the face ever again.

"Thea," Felicity says loudly, forcing resolve into her bones. "I'm meeting Thea. Don't step closer, Oliver. I don't have time for your sexiness right now."

He quirks an eyebrow at her in open amusement. Which is a problem because it's not exactly unattractive, damn it.

"Ugh, I can't even look at you. You're a problem right now," she declares, turning away and grabbing some clothes at random from a drawer and tugging up a pair of pants. "You and your _abs_ and your smile. You need to tone that down."

He laughs outright at that, but she doesn't turn around to face him. Still, he's terrible at keeping his distance from her and after a rustle of clothes that tells her he probably slipped on pants at the very least, he closes in behind her, sliding both hands down her arms and kissing her atop her mussed curls.

"You're the one who puts the smile there," he tells her, resting his chin on her head. "So that part's your fault."

"Alright, well… I guess I'll take the blame for that," she sighs, leaning back against him with a self-satisfied little grin playing across her lips. "But, really… I'm going now. Because Thea."

"Right now?" he asks as she pulls away and steps back before looking up at him.

"I thought I'd brush my teeth first, but after that… yeah," she agrees.

"You might want to… uh… use a little cover-up," he says somewhat abashedly, touching her neck where she just _knows_ she has beard burn and probably a hickey.

"Nope," she counters with a chipper tone.

" _No_?" he asks in surprise.

"Even lacking a mirror I'm pretty sure I'd have to use a whole bottle of concealer at this point. I'd prefer not to paint myself in cover-up. I'd rather own it," she tells him.

If he looks intensely satisfied at this notion, she chooses to ignore that for the moment. She doesn't have time to absorb the way his pupils go wide at those words and his gaze lingers on the places he's blatantly marked her skin.

"Teeth," she says instead, backing up toward the bathroom and holding a hand with a shirt in it up, to physically indicate the need for distance. "Definitely teeth."

He steps back as well, his fingers rubbing against each other at his sides in that nervous-tic he has when he's trying to distract himself from doing something, and sets his jaw in determination.

"You'd better get going then," he says, sounding like he's forcing the words out.

He doesn't have to tell her twice. She knows his resolve is right in line with hers. Namely, nearly non-existent. She scurries toward the bathroom, intent on making herself at least somewhat fit to be seen in public. But one look in the mirror confirms her suspicions - there's no way in the world she's going to be able to mask that she and Oliver have had a literal sex-marathon overnight.

 _Screw it_.

Her hair isn't going to cooperate with anything short of a flat-iron, which she definitely doesn't have time for, so she quickly styles it into an artfully messy bun. It sort of compliments the look she's got going at the moment, which is comprised of a pair of yoga pants and a button-down white shirt of Oliver's that she's rolled up to her elbows. It's huge, slips off one shoulder, but she feels at home in it, like she's surrounded by Oliver, and she quickly decides she doesn't care how that looks because _oh_ she loves that feeling.

Oh _whatever_. She can't care much how she looks right now. Not when she's _engaged to Oliver_. She looks down at her finger, at that ring he's put there several times already. Now, though, it's real. Now she can look at it and feel giddy instead of apprehensive. It's incredible how much that means. The ring itself is gorgeous - of course it is. It was Moira Queen's, after all, but that's not the part she cares about. She cares about what it means. He could have put a piece of twine around her finger and she'd have been just as thrilled. Her mother, however… oh wow there's a thought. Her mother is going to be over the _moon_. And, yeah, she's definitely going to care that there's at least a two carat diamond on her daughter's finger.

But she'll call her later, she resolves, and she brushes her teeth quickly and applies incredibly minimal makeup. Right now, it's Thea she needs to focus on. _Another_ part of her family. Thea's her _family_ now. Wow, that's just… really kind of amazing.

"I'll see you in a bit," she announces, leaving the bathroom and toeing on a pair of bright purple ballet flats before rising up on her tiptoes to kiss Oliver as long as she dares. His hands settle on her waist immediately, holding her close to his body, but she puts both hands on his chest to maintain a smidgen of distance and - admittedly - to cop a feel. She's allowed. It's totally fine. And she's not sorry.

"Okay," he agrees, releasing her and stepping back. "Tell my sister I'll be there in a bit. I just want to change the sheets and do a load of laundry first."

" _Ugh_ , why does that make you even more sexy?" she grumbles, looking toward the ceiling and bouncing on her toes. "I have to go. I have to go immediately because otherwise I'm not leaving at all and you've already stripped the bed so we'd have to get creative and as much as I'm very on board with that idea, I feel like we'd further scar your sister for life whenever she decides to burst in and demand to know why I missed lunch."

"Go," Oliver tells her, sounding decisive but rubbing the sheet between his fingers in an obvious attempt not to touch her again.

She takes a deep breath, nods and leaves. Being blissfully happy is _awesome_ , but if they have a hard time leaving their room it's going to be incredibly difficult to save the 'verse. They really need to find a bit of balance. Later. Not now. This is new. She's allowed this giddy feeling that bubbles in her veins. And she's going to savor it.

And she _does_.

There's a grin a mile wide on her face and a spring in her step and she's practically vibrating with excitement by the time she reaches the mess hall to find Thea already waiting for her and Kaylee rummaging through the fridge.

"Hi!" Felicity greets in the most absurdly chipper voice she's ever managed.

"Wow, are you upbeat," Thea says blinking at her. "What's gotten into you?"

"I can take a guess!" Kaylee offers helpfully before taking a bite out of an enormous apple.

Thea's face registers her words before screwing up in distaste. She loves her brother. She might even love him with Felicity, but she surely didn't need that mental image.

" _Thank you_ , Kaylee," Thea says sarcastically.

"I ain't exactly wrong now am I?" Kaylee asks with a grin, plopping down at the same table. "I'm countin' three hickies I can see. Ain't even gonna hazard a guess how many I can't."

"Ah…" Felicity says, flushing and rubbing at her neck. Because, _yeah_ , she'd known this would get noticed. If she'd realized Kaylee would be here she'd have known it would be mentioned, too, but experiencing that is still a touch on the embarrassing side. "Sorry I'm late. I, um, overslept."

Kaylee snorts and wiggles her eyebrows while Thea blinks at her like she can't quite form words at the moment.

"We had a busy night!" Felicity says instantly which only sets Kaylee off in full blown laughter and leaves Thea looking at her with complete incredulity. "Not like _that_. Or… okay _yes_ like that. Obviously like that. Hickeys don't exactly make themselves and I lack the scruff to induce beard burn, but not only like that. I mean it wasn't all sex. Though there was a lot of that, even by Oliver's standards, I think, but it wasn't _just_ that. There was also-"

"Oh my god, how do you keep making it worse?" Thea questions slack-jawed with wide eyes. "You're a lovely person and you're obviously good for my brother, but your bedroom acrobatics are like, at the very top of a list of things I want to know nothing about."

"It was less acrobatic and more marathon, really," Felicity replies, as if that makes it better.

"There's honestly nothing I want to be less informed about in the entire 'verse," Thea deadpans, looking slightly ill.

"Well, _I_ do!" Kaylee declares, leaning forward on her elbows. "It had t' be at least a _bit_ acrobatic, right? I mean, he's fit enough and you seem bendy."

"Stop talking," Thea orders, looking affronted as she turns her hard gaze toward Kaylee. "Stop talking immediately. Do we have any more GBK? Tell me we saved some."

"Forget about the sex," Felicity says, waving it off.

"I genuinely wish I could," Thea counters.

"No, what I mean is, that's not the thing I wanted to tell you," Felicity continues. "About being busy last night. There's another thing. An important thing."

"More important than sex?" Kaylee asks, sounding horribly doubtful.

"Yes!" Felicity says brightly, holding up her hand with gleeful exuberance and bouncing on her toes.

There's a long moment of silence where Kaylee and Thea look to each other like they're hoping the other has decoded what's going on. Thea shrugs, Kaylee knits her brow and looks back.

"You… got yer nail polish all the way off?" Kaylee ventures after a moment.

"No!" Felicity huffs, slightly affronted that both of them didn't catch on immediately. Then again… the ring isn't exactly newly placed on her finger.

"Felicity what-" Thea starts, her voice trailing off as Felicity wiggles her fingers and realization dawns. "Oh my god. _Oh my god_! Did he actually ask you? Tell me he actually asked you. Did he?"

"He did!" She confirms in a near squeal of excitement.

Thea flat-out _flies_ out of her chair to hug Felicity. Right up until the moment Thea wraps her arms around her, Felicity hadn't realized quite how much Oliver's little sister's approval would mean. Being welcomed so wholly is something she might have anticipated, but how it would feel is something she couldn't have prepared for.

Thea's his only family. She means _so much_ to him. Had she not been okay with this… well that would have been a whole lot harder. For all of them. But she _is_ and it dawns on Felicity that she's not just gaining the only husband she's ever wanted, but she's gaining a sister as well. And it's startling how much she wants that.

"Yer gettin' hitched?" Kaylee asks brightly.

"That's the plan," Felicity confirms with a smile so wide it nearly hurts her cheeks.

"Oh I'm _so glad_ he had the sense to actually ask!" Thea exclaims.

"Thanks for your faith in me, Thea," comes an amused voice from the doorway.

Felicity pulls back from Thea to see Oliver leaning against the doorframe watching them. There's an easy look of calm happiness that lights up his eyes. He's always beautiful, whether he's tortured or brooding or holding men at arrow-point, but he's most beautiful like this. At _peace_. It makes her breath catch in her throat and her heart stutter. It feels like a gift to see him this way, to be a part of it. After everything he's been through, all his trials, to see him find _this_ level of happiness steals the air right out of her lungs.

Thea releases her, closes in on her brother and hugs him tightly.

"I'm proud of you, Ollie," she whispers in a voice meant only for his ears that Felicity feels like a bit of an intruder for overhearing. "I'm so, so proud of you. Not because she's perfect for you, even though she is, but because you fought for something _you_ want. Dad might have wanted you to right his wrongs, but I don't think he just meant the Undertaking. There was this, too. He'd have wanted this for you."

"Thea…" he says quietly, his voice deeply affected by her words as she backs up and puts both hands on his cheeks.

"You're already twice the man dad was," she tells him in a hushed voice. "You'll be twice the husband, too. And, as much as I loved him, we both know that one day you'll be twice the father."

He ducks his head at that, unable to keep Thea's gaze or anyone else's. Felicity knows immediately what that statement means to Oliver. Ever since Lian Yu, he's spent his life trying to live up to his father's expectations of him, to fulfill this mission he's been left. To be told - by Thea no less - that he's not only met but exceeded those goals… well, to Oliver it would have immeasurable value. He blinks hard, blowing air through his lips and his eyes fix on his own toes. He's trying to keep some sense of composure and it's most definitely a struggle at the moment.

"Wedding planning," Thea says abruptly, turning on Felicity and Kaylee. "Do you have colors yet? Any idea where you want to have it? Or when? You don't strike me as the bridezilla type, but that's okay. I'll make up for it."

Though that's undeniably _true_ , Thea's purpose here is absolutely to give Oliver a moment to process her words and pull himself together. If Felicity hadn't already loved this girl, she would have just for that alone.

"As long as it ends with me and Oliver married, I'm not sure I care," Felicity smiles at her. "But I _do_ want you two as bridesmaids, if that's okay."

"Obviously," Thea snorts at the same time that Kaylee shouts "Shiny!"

Felicity's not sure she could have found two more opposite friends, but she adores them both. They both bring something unique to her life and she is well aware she needs them in wholly different ways.

"And… and I thought I might ask Digg to walk me down the aisle..." she says, phrasing it more like a question than a statement as she looks back toward Oliver. "But I'm sure you'll want him as your best man, so if that doesn't work-"

"It's perfect," Oliver assures her, staring back at her with a look that makes her think she could suggest anything right now and he'd agree. There's a dreamy quality to his gaze that she's pretty sure is mirrored on her face. They're both a bit drunk on the future right now. "He can do both. And I'll ask Roy to be a groomsman."

Thea is undeniably pleased by this, a satisfied look of approval gracing her features.

"Colors are going to be a challenge," Thea notes, suddenly turning serious again, tapping her lips with her finger as she thinks. "Felicity's all bright, bold tones, but a lot of those colors would clash with Kaylee's hair. I'm thinking blue and bronze, maybe? I should be taking notes. There's got to be paper around here somewhere..."

Thea moves with great purpose toward the cabinets, a woman on a mission, sifting through drawers for paper and a pen. Her focus is as hilarious as it is frightening. If she'd thought about it earlier, Felicity might have realized Thea would be like this, but she hadn't considered it. She'd been too caught up in euphoria at the prospect of being married to Oliver to consider that her soon-to-be sister-in-law would most certainly see their wedding as an enormous party in need of her particular skillset.

"She wasn't kidding about taking over the bridezilla role, was she?" Felicity asks Oliver, who has crossed the room to her side so he can press a kiss to the top of her head and wrap an arm around her waist.

"She really wasn't," he agrees, murmuring into her hair. "Does it bother you? I can ask her to tone it down."

"No," Felicity disagrees immediately, tilting her head to look up at him and resting a hand on his chest. "It's… she's excited about me joining your _family_ , Oliver. I can't ask her to tone that down. I don't want to."

His heart thuds wildly against her palm at that and the look of wonder in his eyes is strong enough that the rest of the room fades away. She doesn't hear Thea riffling around for a pen or Kaylee's sigh as she watches them. She registers nothing at all but the way that Oliver's looking at her like he's just discovered the secrets to saving the verse living in her eyes.

"God, I love you," he breathes out, dipping his head to kiss her softly.

"Good thing, since we're getting married," she teases, grinning against his lips before she pulls back, smile still firmly affixed to her face. "The wedding itself doesn't matter to me, Oliver. We could have Shepherd Book marry us this morning or plan a big fancy thing two years out. I don't care about that. I care about you, about _us_ , what this means for our lives and our future together _._ I want to be your wife. The rest of it is just a party for our friends."

"I'm pretty sure my sister would have a fit if we got married this morning," he responds, his obvious amusement doing nothing to hide precisely how much he values what she's saying.

"Okay, not _actually_ this morning," she concedes. "I do want my mother to be at our wedding." She breaks off as the words she's saying register in her own mind. " _Oh god_ , my mother. She's going to flip. Oliver, she's going to be as bad as Thea. _Worse_ even! And the two of them together…"

"They'll be a force to be reckoned with," Oliver agrees. "But only because they'll both be so happy about it. Let's just hope they agree on most things."

"They won't," Felicity says with certainty. "Thea's all class and respectability and my mother is… well, she's my mother."

"She might surprise you," Oliver offers, brushing some hair behind her ear and letting his fingers linger on the shell. "After all, she just wants you to be happy. We should call her."

"We should," Felicity agrees, glancing toward a clock. "It's early afternoon where she is. She's probably up. She might even be home still."

"Do you think we have time to tell Digg first?" Oliver asks. "Thea isn't exactly being subtle and I'd prefer he hear it from us."

"Yeah," Felicity agrees. "Let's go tell him."

Her hand slips into his like it belongs there - because it does - and they turn toward the door.

" _Hey!_ Where are you guys going? We have planning to do!" Thea says holding up a pad of paper she's found.

The look on her face is so astounded that Felicity has to bite her lip to keep back a laugh. She sort of fails. That's okay, though. If ever she's allowed to be laughing and grinning for no apparent reason, today is that day.

"Why don't you and Kaylee start on a list of ideas?" Oliver proposes. "We would both really appreciate that. But we want to tell Digg and Felicity's mom about the engagement."

"I swear on my server bank we'll go over everything later," Felicity says, holding up her free hand. "Colors, locations, dates. We can look at dresses online and work up guest lists and all of that. But I sort of want to enjoy this whole 'being engaged' thing before I really focus on the wedding, okay?"

"I guess that's reasonable," Thea harrumphs, crossing her arms and looked decidedly unpleased about her agreement.

"Green too on-the-nose for a wedding color ya think? Is that sayin' 'I'm the Arrow, ask me how?'" Kaylee questions, drawing Thea's attention and undoubtedly strong opinion on the matter. But Oliver and Felicity don't stick around to listen. They have other things on their minds.

His thumb strokes her forefinger as they walk down the hall. It reminds her of his nervous twitch, rubbing his own fingers together compulsively, but it's different. It's opposite of that. It's lazy and soft, a gentle reminder to himself that she is _present_ and they're _together_. It's affirming and comforting in a way that has everything to do with unity and nothing at all to do with stress.

Grinning, she pulls their joined hands up together to kiss his fingers and he shoots her a pleased little grin that she can feel echo through her down to her toes. Has she ever been this happy before? Has he? She sort of doubts it.

"Now there are two faces I hadn't expected to see for a few days," Digg says, jolting them both out of the universe of two they've created between themselves and back to the real world.

"Hey, Digg!" Felicity grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Hey yourself," Digg replies with obvious amusement. "What's up?"

"We wanted to ask you a favor," Oliver says brightly. "If you're willing."

"Shoot," Digg says, but the smile in his eyes hints that he's probably already got a good idea of what's to follow.

"It's two favors actually," Oliver clarifies. "Felicity wanted to ask if you'd give her away. And I wanted to ask if you'd be my best man."

"Hell yes!" Digg declares immediately, pulling Oliver into a hug and clapping him solidly on the back. "I'm proud of you man. It's about time."

"We've only been dating a few months," Oliver answers with a laugh, hugging Digg back for a moment before pulling away.

"And that's what took too damned long!" Digg counters, pointing at Oliver for emphasis before turning toward Felicity. "Congratulations," he says, pulling her into a bear hug in turn.

"Thanks, Digg," she replies, hugging his larger frame tightly.

"You sure you don't want your mom to give you away?" He asks. "I'm flattered and I'm more than happy to do it, but she might want to."

"Nah," Felicity says, shaking her head. "No one's giving me away. I don't belong to anyone. But I want you at my side walking me down the aisle because you're always at my side, Digg. I know you've got my back. My mom is… she's great. She's my mom. But I want you next to me."

"You got it," he agrees easily. "But if you change your mind on that, that's okay. You hear me?"

"I won't," she counters. "But thank you all the same."

"I'm happy for you two," Digg says, pulling away from them both and nodding approvingly as he crosses his arms. "But I'm even less clear on why I'm seeing your faces already than I was before."

"Lunch plans with Thea - which I'm now realizing never did include eating food - sort of required I leave the room," Felicity admits. "Oliver followed."

"Did he now?" Digg asks in amusement. "Well thanks for taking the time to come let me know. Now how about you two go enjoy today on your own. I got the ship. We'll knock very loudly on your door if we need anything."

Felicity laughs sharply at that as Oliver pulls her into his arms and kisses her temple, clearly on board with Digg's suggestion.

"Thanks for that," Felicity replies. "But first I want to give my mom a call and let her know. Mind if I use the comm in the control room since we're here?"

Their room was _sort of_ a mess of clothes strewn about when she'd left and while that's understandable at the moment, she really doesn't want her mother's incredibly-correct speculations on why.

"Sure thing," Digg says, opening the door and stepping aside.

"Hey!" Wash greets as they walk into the room. "How goes the R&R?"

"These two lovebirds made the most of it and got engaged," Digg tells the pilot with more than a little pride in his voice.

" _Did_ they now? Oh, you owe my wife _so_ many credits," Wash says to Digg. "And the bragging rights… my friend they are never ending. Be prepared."

"I ain't even sorry to pay," Digg replies. "An' she can brag all she wants. I'm just gonna grin."

"Nothing could possibly annoy her more," Wash quips before turning to Oliver and extending a hand. "Congratulations to both of you."

"Thank you," Oliver says, shaking the pilot's hand for a moment before Wash lets go and clasps Felicity's in turn.

"Thanks!" She smiles. "We're just going to use the comms to call my mom and then we'll be out of your hair."

"Oh… I bet you will," Wash replies knowingly as Felicity turns a few shades pinker. "Have at it, guys. You want me to step out? I can put her on autopilot."

"Nah, it's okay," Felicity says, waving off his offer of privacy. "Just be prepared for excited screeching. My mom is… energetic."

Oliver huffs a laugh at her not-inaccurate description. But as trying as her mother can be at times, there's nothing that can dim Felicity's joy today.

"I shall prepare by covering my delicate ears," Wash replies. "Comms are all yours, Captain… Mrs. Captain."

Giddiness wells up in Felicity's mid-section at the newly bestowed title. _Mrs. Captain_. It's silly how much she enjoys that, but Oliver must sense that excitement - or maybe he just shares it - because he sits in front of the comm and pulls her onto his lap. His arms wrap around her and he kisses her temple, his lips lingering against her skin even as she punches in the commands to dial her mother. She's never felt this happy, this _cherished_ in her entire life. She's loved Oliver a long time - years, really - but she'd completely underestimated what feeling his love in return in such a real and permanent way would mean to her.

It's only seconds before their call connects and Donna Smoak appears on the screen in front of them. Unsurprisingly, her blonde hair is feathered out and her dress is tight, bright and low-cut. But Felicity's come to expect this from her mother. Wash, however, clearly hasn't.

"That's your _mom_?" echoes from behind them, but Felicity's focus is firmly on the screen and the predictable shriek of excitement coming from it before Donna covers her mouth and glances off camera.

"Baby girl!" Donna declares. " _Oliver_ … this is… unexpected. You two seem… cozy… Tell me you're together, Felicity! This had better not be a joke because that would just be cruel."

Felicity flushes at that, ducks her head under Oliver's chin as he laughs.

"We have been together for a bit, Donna," Oliver tells her. "I'm sorry we've been so out of touch. That's my fault. Things have been so busy lately."

"No, no," Donna protests a little breathlessly, brushing her hair off her shoulders and her eyes darting off camera again. "Not at all. I completely understand. You're a very busy man and new relationships are so time consuming. In a good way!"

"Actually, mom…" Felicity starts, grinning up at Oliver before looking back at the screen. "Oliver asked me to marry him."

" _OH MY GOD!"_ Donna screams, practically vibrating with excitement before forcing herself to take deep breaths and calming down. "Oh my god! Felicity, baby, really? _Really_?"

Her eyes are watering and she's fanning her own face. She's every bit as thrilled as Felicity had expected. And yet, something seems off.

"Felicity I am just… _oh_ , I'm just… I'm so, _so_ happy for you," Donna sniffles. "All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. You know that, right baby? I need you to know that."

"Of course," Felicity says, sitting up a little straighter and paying a little more attention to her mother. "Of course I know that. Is something wrong, mom? Where are you?"

"No, everything's fine, baby girl," Donna laughs sharply, carefully wiping tears away from beneath her eyes, dabbing to avoid smearing her mascara. "I'm just… I'm overwhelmed is all! It's not every day your only child calls to tell you she's getting married. And I'm… I'm at work already. They redid the back room."

"Oh…" Felicity says, taking note of the setting, eyes skimming over the unfamiliar decor. "That's… surprising."

"I know! Surprised me, too," Donna smiles broadly. "I actually have to get to work in a moment, honey, but thank you for calling me."

"Of course," Felicity says, still trying to make sense of what exactly is going.

Donna hesitates for a moment, eyes down at her hands before she looks up with a blinding smile that Felicity immediately knows to be fake.

"I'm gonna be at Uncle John's for a few days. You know how the reception is there. If I don't answer, that's why. Okay?" Donna asks.

Felicity's blood freezes in her veins at the words. A chill runs down her spine, like ice water dripped down her back. Her whole body is on edge quite suddenly. She can't breathe, can't think, because her mother's words don't make sense. She _must_ have heard her wrong.

"Uncle John's?" She asks, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. "Really?"

"Really," Donna says, her smile tightening and her eyes nervous. "I love you, baby girl. And I'm so happy for you. I'll talk to you when I get back okay?"

"Okay," Felicity manages, gripping Oliver's hand tightly enough that he must know with absolute certainty that something is wrong.

Donna blows a kiss their direction and a second later the call disconnects. Felicity's carefully controlled breaths fall apart into ragged gulps for air, her hand shaking as she clenches Oliver's fingers.

"What was that?" Digg asks from the side as Oliver tilts her head up to look at him, concern evident in his eyes.

"I don't have an Uncle John," Felicity tells them both, eyes darting to Digg before locking again with Oliver's. "It's a code word my mom made up when I was little in case I had an emergency and couldn't tell her openly. Something's wrong, Oliver. My mom's in trouble."


	46. Chapter 46

There is never a question about whether or not they'll go save Donna. It's Oliver's ship and his crew. Even if the others objected, he'd have ordered them to set a heading for New Vegas immediately. But they don't object. Or, rather, almost none of them do. Jayne grumbles a bit until Zoe reminds him he's being paid for every day they're aboard this ship. He stops griping then, which is good because Felicity's level of distress is _sort of_ making Oliver want to shove anyone making it worse out an airlock.

Not that that's an infrequent impulse with Jayne anyhow.

At best, they're three and a half days out from New Vegas. Verdant might have the best engines on the market and the best engineer Oliver's ever seen, but even Felicity can't shave much time off their journey. Not for lack of trying, though. The first eight hours after their cryptic conversation with Donna, Felicity spends with Kaylee in the engine room trying to get the ship to go just a _bit_ faster, just a _bit_ more efficiently. For all the effort they put in, they manage to shave twenty minutes off their travel.

At most.

Felicity would have kept at it, she _would_ have worked herself to exhaustion covered in engine grease and transmission fluid, had Kaylee not pointed out the hull strength probably couldn't take the strain of going any faster. The realization had hit her like a ton of bricks, her shoulders sagging and the strain of the day catching up with her so very quickly.

It had made Oliver's chest physically ache to see that look of desperation and defeat on her face. He wants - more than anything - to make it better, to roll back the clock to this morning when they'd been blissfully happy and tangled up in each other with dreams for the future shockingly within their grasps.

He can't, though. He knows that. All he can do is support her, be there when she breaks down.

And she _will_ break down.

Perhaps foolishly, he'd thought that moment would have happened when she'd realized she couldn't make the ship go any faster. But it doesn't. Not really. There's a moment of defeat, sure, but then she refocuses, shifts gears, and starts analyzing every element of the conversation with her mother.

For the next eight hours, she's holed up in their room, replaying that conversation over and over again on a loop. Every time the video of the wave restarts and Oliver sees them _so_ happy and _so_ carefree, it only serves to strike home how very much everything has changed in the span of a day.

But beyond the occasional heavy gulp or quiet sigh, Felicity doesn't seem to focus on that. No, she's far too attentive to other things.

She takes notes, looks up schematics for her mom's casino, compares layouts, works to trace the signal. She barely eats. She doesn't sleep. And there's little Oliver can do but watch as she allows herself to be wholly absorbed by her work.

"You should rest," he tells her gently, placing a hand on her overly-tense shoulder somewhere around three in the morning.

At first, he's not sure she even heard him. She doesn't react at all, just mutters to herself as she punches in some kind of code he can't read.

"Honey..." he starts again.

"Not now, Oliver," she snaps without even looking at him.

Her fingers fly over the keys. She's lost in a world of transmission relay sources and signal strength and other things he really doesn't understand. He'd do anything to help her, but this isn't how he fights battles. There's nothing for him to shoot yet. But this is how _she_ fights them and for all the times she's been his support, the voice in his ear that guides him, he's at a loss for how to back her up. But he knows she's four steps past exhaustion and keeping this up will do her no good.

"Yes now," he tells her, squeezing her shoulder a little more firmly.

"No," she argues, actually looking up at him when she speaks, which he takes as a victory even if her eyes are inching past annoyed and straight into angry. "Not now. This is important, Oliver. This is my _mom_ and she needs me. So _back off_."

The venom in her voice isn't unexpected. He's been where she is right now. He knows what it feels like to have that kind of wild desperation surging through his veins. Still, it takes everything he has to remember not to take it personally.

"She _does_ need you," he agrees. "But she's going to need you at your best and right now you're not there. If you didn't figure out where that signal was coming from eight hours ago when you were rested, what chance do you have of finding it now when you're running entirely on caffeine and adrenaline?"

"Oliver…" she hisses out. "I love you, but this is _not_ the time to push me. I'm _close_. I can figure this out."

"And you have two more days to do that in," he points out. "There's no use passing out on the keyboard when you can take a nap and come back at it with fresh eyes. Even if you figured out exactly where she was right now, we still won't be there for days. And your mom would _not_ want you working yourself to death."

He sees it then, the moment she crumbles, the instant the weight of everything swamps her, overwhelming with the press of it all atop her shoulders. It's frustration and fear as much as exhaustion that makes her eyes water, her shoulders sag under his hands.

"I know, honey," he offers, stroking through her hair with his other hand. "I get it. And we _will_ save your mom. But not tonight."

"She's… she's my _mom_ , Oliver," Felicity chokes out, tears clouding her voice. "She's my mom and she's in trouble. She's _scared_ and I can't find her. Why can't I find her? This is what I do! I'm good at this. I'm _the best_ at this. But whoever routed this signal… it's like I'm fighting _myself_ and I can't find her!"

"Hey, shhh… come here," he says, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up to stand in his embrace. This is the only way he can help her right now, supporting her literally and emotionally. She needs that. Her slight frame is heavy in his arms as she lets him share the strain of the day for the first time since the call with her mom ended. "I've got you. We'll figure out what's happening, what kind of trouble she's in. You aren't alone. Okay?"

"But she is. She's my _mom_ , Oliver," Felicity emphasizes through a ragged gulp of air against his chest. "The more I watch that conversation the more scared she seems. She keeps looking off screen. I think someone has her. I think he was _there_ … watching us talk."

He'd come to the same conclusion, but he hadn't intended to voice that yet. Felicity is terrified enough, she hadn't needed to be confronted with that reality yet, but as usual she's two steps ahead of him. Just this once, he wishes maybe she weren't quite so brilliant, that maybe she'd missed that for the time being. She surely doesn't need the stress.

"It's a good thing you know a few vigilantes then," he points out. It earns him a wet, humorless laugh. That's not much, but he'll take it and savor her response for the victory it is.

A hot rush of breath exhales against his chest and he holds her tighter, trying to lock out the 'verse with his arms and sheer force of will. He wants to promise that everything will be fine, that they'll save her mom, but he doesn't even know what they're facing yet and a thin promise means nothing.

"I will do everything I can to save your mom, Felicity. You know that, right?" He asks instead, stroking along her spine in long soothing strokes.

"We have to find her first," she mumbles into his chest. "And I just… whoever hid the signal is good. Like scary good. Like _me_ good."

"That narrows the list of possibilities, anyhow," he notes, feeling her stiffen in his arms and turn to look up at him.

"What do you mean?" She questions.

If he'd needed more evidence of her exhaustion, this would have done it. She should have already realized this.

"You're in a class by yourself, Felicity," he points out. "The list of people in the 'verse who can match your skills is a short one."

A little crease forms in her brow and her exhausted eyes turn intense as his words sink in. He's right. They both know that. But she seems to have leapfrogged a few steps ahead of him in figuring something out.

"Someone with my skillset with a similar approach to cybersecurity…" she echoes, glancing back toward the screen. "Someone who would go after _my mom_. Oliver is this… do you think this is someone I know?"

All signs point to yes on that one, but he's hesitant to answer. It's very early yet. There's so little they actually _know_ , but his instincts scream in agreement.

"I think we can't discount the possibility," Oliver advises, kissing her furrowed brow.

"Is… is my mom in danger because of _me_?" she asks in a quiet voice that's laced with insecurity, her vulnerable gaze looking up at him, obviously desperate in her need for reassurance. "Oliver is this… do you think this is my fault? Is someone trying to get back at me for something? Why would they even let her _take_ my call? What if-"

"Hey, stop," he interrupts, his hold on her tightening, his fingertips pressing into her skin like he can physically keep her mind here, prevent it from going down this self-destructive road she's started to wander down. "You'll make yourself go crazy thinking like this. No one put your mother in danger other than whoever took her. You did _nothing_ wrong, Felicity."

"But… but what if…" she starts before gulping heavily, swallowing the words she can't quite voice.

"No 'what ifs,'" he advises. "You've seen the worst of me, Felicity. You've seen _all_ of it. All the doubt, the guilt, the regrets. And we came out of that because you forgave me and supported me, because you reminded me time after time that I'm responsible for my _own_ actions, no one else's. This is no different. Even if someone you know _did_ take her, even if it's because of some connection to you, that's still not your fault. It's theirs."

She's quiet for a long moment, looking up at him with clear desire to believe him. But she's wary. He can understand that. He might be able to parrot back her own words back at her, but it's not like he's always taken them to heart himself. It's very difficult to absolve himself of any wrongdoing when his loved ones suffer, even if his involvement is very indirect.

"It's very unfair to use my own logic against me, you know," she says finally, obviously still unsettled but a bit less manic than before. "That's dirty pool, Oliver."

"Well, I've never claimed to play fair," he tells her with a slim smile quirking the edge of his lips.

She tucks her head under his chin, resting her cheek against his chest, breathing out a long, heavy sigh against his collarbone. It's like the strain seeps out on an exhale. He can feel it dissipating as she melts into him, exhaustion taking over.

He's worried about Donna, but he's still feeling more than a little thrill of triumph at being able to ease the pressures weighing on Felicity's mind. That she allows him this - that they're at a place in their relationship where he can truly share her burdens - is monumental and he is so intensely grateful for that. Not long ago, he wouldn't have been able to offer her this. He couldn't have held her, comforted her, been the pillar of support she so obviously needs. But he can now. Moments like this, when she lets him just hold her and supply the strength she's currently lacking, it drives home how far they've come, how incredibly lucky he is to have _this_.

"I'm so tired," she says in a voice so quiet that it's barely audible. He feels her words more than he hears them, a rumble of vibration against his chest. "But I don't think I could sleep. I'm so… I'm just so..."

She doesn't even have the words to finish her statement and he can hear the tears in her voice even if her eyes aren't wet.

"Come on," he says, pulling away slightly but careful to continue to support her drained frame. His hand settles tightly around her waist, like holding her close will keep her safe, keep the demons at bay that are currently waging war in her mind. It's less literal than his own battle was recently, but no less real.

Mindlessly, she follows his lead, allowing him to guide her toward the bed. For a woman who is so often larger than life, she seems tiny in this moment and it only redoubles his need to protect her, reassure her, keep her safe in his arms.

"Sit down," he urges as they reach the mattress and she toes off her shoes, slipping them under the bed.

In this moment, she's put herself entirely in his hands, he realizes as she sits and looks up at him like she's waiting for direction. She's so very drained, so completely undone by the day that she's lost direction for even the barest of decisions at the moment. The lost look in her eyes breaks his heart. He doesn't want this for her. He knows what it feels like to have a parent taken, to have them in danger and feel at fault for it. He's intimately aware of how that hollows you out, lives in your gut. There is no one he would wish that on, but especially not her.

He sits next to her, kicking his own shoes off before turning and working open the buttons of her shirt. Or, rather, his shirt that she'd worn the entire day. It's got engine grease and transmission fluid on it and it will undoubtedly never be the same again, but he honestly could not care less about that.

"I can undress myself," she protests, but makes no move to take over, instead shrugging off the ruined dress shirt as he finishes with the last button.

"I know," he assures her, tossing the discarded top into the laundry bin before pulling his own henley off over his head and repeating the motion. "But you don't have to."

He lies down, tugging her with him and curling his arms around her protectively, holding her against his chest like shielding her with his body could keep the world outside at bay. It doesn't work. It can't. He knows that. But she seems to find some comfort in his warmth, with his hands stroking up her bare back in long, steady patterns.

Still, there's something she's holding back. Some part of herself that's she's trying to keep from breaking down entirely. And, he thinks maybe she needs to. She's being going so hard for so long with so little progress. Holding onto that frustration is absolutely not going to help her sleep.

"It's okay if you're scared," he tells her, kissing the top of her hair as his fingers trip up the ladder of her spine. "I am, too. Being afraid doesn't make you weak. If this is all too much, if you need to let it out and cry or yell or hit something… that's okay, honey. I get it. I've been there. Don't hold it back. Not for me."

She's silent, but he can tell she soaks in the words, lets them sink into her skin and hit home when she starts shaking a moment later. Little tremors take over her whole body as he holds her, still running his hands up and down her back, offering her comfort in the only way he can. His chest grows wet as she finally lets tears stream freely and a ragged sob echoes through the room. He can _feel_ it against his skin, her open mouth pressed against his chest as she finally lets everything catch up with her.

"I've got you," he promises, burying a hand in her hair and kissing the top of her head. "I will do _everything_ in my power to help your mom. Okay?"

He doesn't hush her, doesn't try to stop her tears. She needs this and he knows it. Instead he rubs her back, holds her close and presses his lips to the top of her head in lingering kisses that he hopes like hell she feels in the core of her being. There's no rush, no timetable here, and he doesn't even know how long it takes before her shaking subsides and the wet heat of her tears cool against his chest.

But they do. Eventually.

And when they do, her breathing is slow and even, her body completely lax against his and he is intensely relieved to find that she's actually fallen asleep.

He eases back from her slowly, holding his breath and hoping desperately that he won't wake her. He doesn't. Her exhaustion is thorough and she doesn't even mumble as she falls away from him and sinks into the mattress.

A pang of regret slices through him as he takes in the sight of her. Her face is reddened and splotchy, salty dried tracks of tears staining her cheeks. There is nothing he wouldn't do to make this better, no favor he wouldn't call in or debt he wouldn't owe to spare her the pain of this experience. When his own mother was taken… Well, he's not going to venture too far down that road. His mother wasn't just taken, she was murdered in front of him. And as horrible as her capture had been and the moments that followed, it's the memory of her eyes turning sightless as life faded out of her body that sticks with him most.

Felicity won't go through that. He won't allow it.

Years of being stealthy let him slide off the bed noiselessly. He doesn't want to leave her. Whenever she wakes, he wants it to be in the comfort of his arms, but he's got a call to make and a crew to talk to. He just hopes he'll be back before she rouses from her slumber.

Still barefoot, but having tugged on a fresh shirt, he leaves their room, the door snicking shut quietly behind him before he heads toward the control room.

The halls are mostly empty this time of night, his crew and Serenity's both asleep in their rooms, and there's nothing but the ever-present, dull hum of electronics that fills his ears. But he's unsurprised when he reaches his destination and finds Digg sitting behind the ship's controls.

"Figured you'd be asleep by now," Digg says in place of a greeting. "How's she doing?"

"She's overwhelmed, terrified," Oliver acknowledges, sinking into the seat next to Digg, the leather seat creaking as it accommodates him. "She's asleep, finally."

"Good," Digg tells him. "She needs it. So, tell me… how are we gonna fix this? Because you and me, we've gotta get this son-of-a-bitch who's got her mother."

Oliver nods, grateful for what seems the millionth time for the solidarity between himself and his first mate. There is nothing either one of them wouldn't do for Felicity. He knows that. They are all a team - all of them - but it's different with him, Digg and Felicity. They're a unit unto themselves. There's an understanding there, a loyalty that transcends the larger group of their team.

"We'll do whatever we have to," Oliver replies levelly. "Did you call Lyla?"

"First thing I did after you two left the room," Digg confirms. "She didn't know anything but said she'd tap a few resources, keep an ear out. She didn't seem real hopeful though. You make any calls yet?"

"No," Oliver sighs, shaking his head. "That's part of why I'm here."

"Anatoly?" Digg questions.

"The Bratva has a lot of control in New Vegas, but it's Maxim's territory," Oliver points out. "And he's probably not all that happy with me at the moment, considering I just outed his wife as a conspirator trying to overthrow the Pakhan. So yes… Anatoly."

Digg watches him for a moment, lips thinned and jaw set as he nods, clearly thinking something through. Oliver's pretty sure of what it is before he opens his mouth to voice them and - as it turns out - he's not wrong.

"How mad is Maxim, exactly?" Digg questions. "If he's looking for vengeance…"

"I thought of that," Oliver acknowledges. "This isn't him. Maxim is an opportunistic, horrible excuse for a human being, but he's not subtle. This isn't his style. Whoever did this masked where the signal connected to well enough that after eight hours of analyzing it, Felicity _still_ couldn't figure out where it came from."

Digg's eyebrows shoot up at that. After years as a team, watching Felicity's computer skills in action, he knows better than anyone how specialized a skillset that would take.

"Can't be that long a list of people with those kinds of skills," Digg notes.

"I considered that, too," Oliver agrees. "Maybe see if ARGUS has a database of genius-level computer experts?"

"I'd be surprised if they didn't," Digg tells him. "Getting it might be a bit more challenging, but we can try. I'll give Lyla another call when Wash shows up to take over the controls in a bit."

"When's that?" Oliver asks, eyes darting toward a nearby clock.

"About three hours or so," Digg tells him. "Lyla's working the graveyard shift anyhow. She won't be able to answer until then."

There's a frustrated note to his voice that Oliver can't help but pick up on. It's not his place in the least to interject himself into this situation, but Digg's his friend - maybe his best friend - and he can't make himself let it go without comment.

"You two talk anymore about…" Oliver ventures.

"Every call," Digg answers, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the limitless horizon of stars. "She's stubborn as hell. It's one of the things I love about her, but… man, this separation is driving me nuts."

"I've told her she's welcome on this ship anytime," Oliver reminds him. "Want me to be a little clearer about offering her a spot on the crew?"

"Nah, thanks man, but it's not that," Digg counters, still actively avoiding meeting his captain's eye. "She knows she's got a home here. But for now she feels like she's got a mission _there_. I get it. We're both soldiers. We aren't gonna leave a mission unfinished. But… I miss my wife. I miss my _kid_. Waves goodnight aren't enough. I hate that she's growing up without me."

There's very little Oliver can say to that. He can't eliminate the distance between Digg and his family any more than he can have them suddenly arrive at New Vegas.

"I'm sorry," Oliver offers. "I can only imagine what that's like."

"Yeah… _for now_ ," Digg says, finally looking his direction with a gleam in his eye. "Give it a year or so and I'm pretty sure you and Felicity are both gonna understand it a whole lot better."

The bright white house of his imagination dances in front of his eyes for a moment, thunderous footsteps stampeding down the stairs, a riot of childish giggles echoing in his ears as a child - his child, _their_ child - launches herself into his bed at the crack of dawn, awakening Felicity with an endearingly petulant groan. He can hear it. He can _see_ it. And, _oh_ he wants that with a ferocity that would have been unthinkable not so long ago. But now… the idea of family and laughter and joy filling his world, it seems almost possible.

But they have today to get through first. And tomorrow. And all the days between now and that _someday_ to earn it. So he ducks his head and fights back the smile that he knows paints itself across his lips at the thought of that life. This isn't the time for that.

"Maybe," he allows in a quieter voice than before. "But for you, if you or Lyla need _anything_ …"

"I got it," Digg says, amusement at his captain's terrible attempt to mask emotions clear in his tone. "I know you've got my back. She does, too."

"Good," Oliver agrees, regrouping. "Good…"

"Now stop stalling and call your Pakhan," Digg orders, shooting Oliver a knowing look.

"Which one of us is the captain, again?" Oliver questions, raising his eyebrows at his first mate. He does, however, move to the comms. Because Digg is right and Oliver knows it.

"Pretty sure you left me in charge," Digg points out. "So, currently… that'd be _me_."

The look Oliver replies with is as good humored as it is disbelieving. Digg just chuckles to himself and shakes his head as Oliver's attention turns back to the console in front of him.

It's somewhere near lunchtime on the Bratva homeworld, but Oliver still feels a pang of hesitation at calling the Bratva leader when his clock reads four o'clock. Or, maybe it's that they're so recently free of the heavy handed control of the Russian mob. Anatoly might be an ally, but Oliver will never mistake him for someone unwilling to shift allegiances when it suits his needs. He trusts the pakhan… mostly. But he trusts him to look out for himself and the Brotherhood first and foremost. And not knowing _who_ has Felicity's mom or what their agenda is makes Oliver hesitant about drawing in the mob boss.

Still… their options right now are slim.

"Oliver! This is very much a surprise," Anatoly greets with characteristic boisterousness. "It is very early there, no? What has you calling me at this hour?"

"Anatoly," Oliver greets, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, focus honed on the screen. "I'm going to have to cash in that favor."

The surprise on Anatoly's face is both readily evident and expected. To have a favor owed by the pakhan is no small thing. To make use of it almost immediately after being granted it… well, that's a questionable choice, to be sure.

"Tell me what is happening, Oliver," Anatoly demands grimly, his earlier joviality bleeding away before Oliver's eyes.

"Someone's kidnapped Felicity's mother," Oliver tells him. "We don't know who but she lives on New Vegas and she was almost certainly grabbed there. We're going to need Bratva resources to help track her down."

Anatoly makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum as he leans forward, mimicking Oliver's stance.

"This is not the stuff of favors, Oliver," he tells him in reply. For a moment, Oliver thinks he means he won't help, that the Bratva is refusing to get involved, that maybe they're _already_ involved in some horrible way. But that's not what Anatoly means. That much is obvious when he starts to speak again. "This is your mother-in-law, Oliver. Your family. Bratva protects its family. You know this."

"Felicity and I aren't married yet," Oliver points out.

"And yet she has very publicly been claimed as your woman and under your protection," Anatoly points out. "This is common knowledge amongst the Brotherhood. If we cannot protect our own families, our power is for nothing. No, if this stands unanswered it makes you look weak, Oliver. And if you look weak, _I_ look weak. This is unacceptable. You need not use your favor for my aid, this is my obligation as your Pakhan."

Oliver lets out a breath of relief and leans back in his chair. "Thank you."

"What is it you need from me?" Anatoly asks.

"For now? Eyes and ears," Oliver tells him. "We don't know who has her or what they were after, but I doubt they've left New Vegas."

"And Bratva has many connections there," Anatoly confirms. "Send me details, Oliver. A picture, useful information, whatever you have. I will ask questions of our people myself."

"I appreciate that," Oliver acknowledges. "But it might be best if knowledge about her is… compartmentalized. At least until we know more about who has her."

"This is not Maxim, you realize?" Anatoly questions. "Bratva did not do this. I have sanctioned nothing of the sort."

"No offense, Anatoly, but I think recent events have proved that we have some members of The Brotherhood who have their own agendas. I trust _you_. I don't trust Maxim or his people," Oliver advises.

Anatoly replies with a grunt of reluctant agreement.

"This is a fair point," he acknowledges. "If you find Maxim or his people _is_ involved, I will burn the New Vegas side of the business to the ground. It's better to kill it than to let it run wild, yes?"

Oliver isn't naive enough to think Anatoly means this any way other than literal. Maxim's had one strike against him lately. His fault or not, if his people are involved in Donna's disappearance, Anatoly will have everyone who reports to Maxim slaughtered and his business gutted.

"We don't know anything yet," Oliver reminds him. "I'm not accusing anyone, just being careful."

"Of course," Anatoly replies with a laugh, as if he hadn't just been casually alluding to slaughtering an entire contingent of his own people. "This is… jumping the gun, as you say, yes? I will discreetly ask questions, gather information. Pass along to me what you find. I will take things from there and join you in New Vegas if I must."

"You don't need to do that," Oliver replies immediately, more than a little uneasy at the idea of Anatoly inserting himself so centrally into this entire situation.

"To the contrary, my Alliance friend," Anatoly counters. "Maxim has proven himself questionable, of late. It is good business sense for me to survey his operations first hand anyhow. This timing may prove useful."

This has suddenly become about a great deal more than Donna's disappearance and Oliver is wise enough - experienced in the Bratva enough - to know better than to try to talk Anatoly out of heading toward New Vegas.

"In that case… we'll be happy to meet you there," Oliver replies tightly. "We're about two days out. When should we expect you?"

"Four days?" Anatoly muses. "Or perhaps five. I must make arrangements here first. But I shall see you soon, my friend, and we will rein in Maxim's people while we recover your woman's mother. Until then, Oliver."

"Until then," Oliver echoes with a nod as the signal cuts out and Anatoly's familiar face disappears from the screen.

"So…" Digg chimes in. "That didn't go exactly as planned."

"No," Oliver confirms, running over their increasingly complicated situation in his head. "It didn't."


	47. Chapter 47

She sleeps forever. Or, maybe not at all.

For as different as the clock is when Felicity wakes, she surely doesn't feel rested. At least not physically. Her body seems weak, drained by the emotional upheaval of the day - or is it the day before? She's not sure at this point - and no amount of napping is going to change that. Everything aches, her muscles, her heart. Her whole sense of being had clenched tight with fear and trepidation even as she'd finally allowed the outside world to fade away, giving way to reason and Oliver's pleas.

Oliver…

She sits up in their bed, her neck popping in two places as she stretches, looking around the room, but her fiancée is nowhere to be found. Part of her is disappointed he's not there, but most of her had known he wouldn't be. Because of course he wouldn't. He's the ship's captain and he'd do anything at all for her and her mother is missing. _Obviously_ he has more important things to do than watch her sleep. And she's grateful for that, for his drive and his caring heart, but she still misses the comfort of his warm voice and soft touch. Maybe it should be frightening how much she craves that, how much she needs it, but it's not.

Felicity's not entirely certain when she gave the whole of her heart to Oliver Queen, entrusted him to keep hold of it gently with his battle-worn hands, but somewhere along the way she had and she's well past the point of questioning that choice now. Besides, she reflects as she pushes off the bed and starts rummaging around for fresh clothes, she knows full well that he gave her his scarred and battered heart as well. They are each other's guardians - best friends, partners and first in line of defense. And when she thinks about Oliver - who he is, what she knows of him, all he's fought for these past few years - it's easy to not be afraid.

Pulling an oversized sweatshirt over her head, she almost misses the tentative knock at her door. It's muffled by the fabric sliding over her ears, but she catches the quiet rap and calls out "hang on a second" as she slides into a pair of yoga pants. It's not Oliver; he wouldn't knock. She's sure of that. And, when she makes her way over to the door and slides it open, she finds she's right.

"Thea… Kaylee," she greets. It's a far cry from the jubilant greeting they'd gotten last time she'd seen them. She brushes her hand through her untamed hair as she steps back to let the two women in and the light catches on her engagement ring. It feels like months ago Oliver had put that there, instead of just hours. So much has happened. _Too_ much has happened. God, she needs Oliver. She needs her _mom_. She needs to fix this, and a surge of frustration washes through her that she hasn't yet, that her mom is out there, somewhere, in danger and she hasn't fixed a damned thing.

"We didn't wanna wake ya' but we figured it's high time you had yourself a bit to eat," Kaylee says. And, for the first time, Felicity realizes there is indeed a tray of food in her hands. Thea brings both coffee and a painfully sympathetic look that actually makes Felicity feel worse.

She dismisses the look, but takes the coffee with a pinched smile toward her future sister-in-law and drinks from it heavily, letting the familiar bitterness wash over her and bring with it a much needed sense of normalcy. It's hotter than she usually likes, with not enough creamer, and she finds herself grateful for that because it jars her more, brings about an alertness she might not have had otherwise.

Gulping down the searing drink and relishing the slight burn as it makes its way down her throat, she asks "Where are we?"

It would be impossible to miss the wary look between the other two women and all it does is rile Felicity up. She doesn't have time for their hesitance. She's wasted too many hours already.

"Well?" she prods. If they detect any hint of patience in her voice, it's imagined. She has none.

"We're working on it," Thea tells her slowly, which means they're _nowhere_.

"Damn it," Felicity breathes out in frustration, rubbing at the center of her forehead with her free hand. "I shouldn't have slept. I should have kept working."

She's moving past them toward her computer without even thinking about it. There's work to do. She has to figure out who has her mother. Everything else is secondary.

"You ain't a computer, you know?" Kaylee asks, grabbing hold of the loose arm of Felicity's sweatshirt. "An' if you were, you'd've overheated an' burned out by now anyhow. Ain't a person on this ship that don't want to find your momma, not even Jayne, and we _will_ , but you gotta be in one piece when we do. Take a breath, eat a bite of food, let us take some o' the load."

There's only one part of Kaylee's good-hearted, impassioned little speech that immediately strikes Felicity and gives her pause. " _Jayne_?" she questions. " _Jayne_ even wants to find my mom?"

It strikes her that maybe he saw a picture and Felicity might have to give the overly crass, burly henchman a talking to because this is her _mom_.

"Oh yeah," Kaylee replies, obviously grabbing hold of any opening to get through to Felicity with two hands. "Jayne's a bit rough around the edges an' all, but he's got a real soft spot for mommas. Ain't nobody messing with a crewmate's momma an' gettin' away with it on Jayne's watch."

Huh… that's… oddly sweet once she thinks about it.

"Plus he saw a picture," Thea adds dryly.

All her good will toward Jayne instantly fades away and Felicity scowls a bit before sighing and looking back toward her monitor. Thea and Kaylee must realize they're losing her because they change tactics.

"How about you eat while we catch up up on what steps we've taken so far, okay?" Thea proposes. "That way you're working _and_ taking care of yourself."

She mulls that over for a moment before taking the tray of food from Kaylee with a frustrated grimace and sitting down.

"An' maybe take a shower before ya get back on that computer, too," Kaylee adds.

Both Felicity and Thea look up at her incredulously.

"What? She done slept eighteen hours! An' she worked non-stop most of a whole day before that. Ain't nobody that ain't a bit ripe after that," Kaylee protests.

" _Eighteen hours_?" Felicity demands, her eyes flying back to the clock. She'd assumed it had been six, but to have lost almost a whole day…

"All the more to get you caught up on, right?" Thea asks, grabbing hold of her wrist to keep her still. And she had been about to get up. Without even realizing it, she'd been ready to gravitate back to the computer and sink into her work. But her stomach rumbles loudly as her metabolism starts to kick into gear and... yeah. They're right. She needs to eat.

"So get me caught up," Felicity agrees, picking up the sandwich on her plate and taking a healthy-sized bite. She almost groans as the flavor of food hits her tongue. Honestly, egg salad should _not_ be this good. She feels like she could absolute inhale everything in front of her.

"We're just over a day away from New Vegas," Thea begins. "Lyla has her ear to the ground, but she hasn't heard anything yet."

Felicity swallows hard, forcing the sandwich down her throat. "So we're nowhere?"

"Not… _exactly_ ," Kaylee says, but the note of caution in her voice doesn't do anything to put Felicity at ease.

"Oliver called Anatoly," Thea supplies.

Felicity freezes, sandwich halfway to her mouth. "He called in the _Bratva_?"

Hadn't they just gotten out of that whole mess?

"They got them a real good foothold in New Vegas," Kaylee points out. "They used us to help them outuva tight spot. It's only fair we done the same."

Felicity knows, obviously, that the Bratva has its hands in plenty of New Vegas business, but she honestly hasn't given that much thought in years. It had just been home, growing up. It's not like she'd had much to do with the seedier underbelly of the local crime syndicate. In fact, her one and only personal encounter with hometown mobsters had come on the heels of her ill-advised card counting ventures in the casinos. She's still not sure how her mom got her out of that one, but she had. And at the time she hadn't really known much about the Bratva beyond local lore, but in hindsight she knows with certainty that at least one of the casinos she'd cheated had been mob run. She's lucky, basically. For all intents and purposes, she should have disappeared, wound up buried somewhere in the desert never to be found. And, while she's grateful that she _hadn't_ , it does raise the question of _why_.

What in the hell had her mother done all those years ago?

"Anatoly's on his way," Thea says, interrupting her musings.

"To New Vegas?" Felicity asks, dropping the sandwich back to her plate.

Thea nods. "He says you're family and that the Bratva protects its own."

"He has to be worried about someone muscling in on his territory, too," Felicity theorizes. "Or concerned that someone else in the organization is stepping out of line."

Good lord, when had she started thinking of the Bratva as 'the organization?' When had she somehow become a part of that?

 _The moment Oliver put that ring on your finger_ , a little voice in the back of her head tells her. And there's truth in that. But she finds it doesn't bother her in the least. Maybe it _should_ \- the Bratva wives are anything but pleasant, after all, and this is _the mob_ \- but it's Oliver. She'll take his jagged edges with the rest of him. They're part of who he is and she loves that man with every piece of her soul… even if that means technically she's going to be a mob wife.

"Oliver had the same thought," Thea agrees, pulling her back into the present. "Though he and Anatoly both seemed convinced the Bratva isn't directly involved."

"That's almost worse for Anatoly," Felicity muses. "It means someone else is operating in his territory."

"That's gonna go over like a Browncoat ship settin' down in Alliance territory," Kaylee notes.

She's not wrong.

"We need to figure out who has her and _why_ ," Felicity announces, taking a big bite of her sandwich as she mulls things over.

"Oliver said you might be able to narrow it down just by who would be able to mask their signal so well," Thea supplies.

"Oh!" Felicity says, sitting up straighter and putting her plate to the side. "Yes! I mean, not _definitively_ , because you never know when there's a new teenage genius out there just spreading their metaphorical wings, but whoever is doing this has some serious skills and that narrows it down a lot. I should start a list…"

"We already did," Kaylee advises, much to Felicity's surprise. "I ain't had much idea where to start, but my friend Mr. Terrific did. He got us goin'. It ain't finished, but it kicks things off at least."

"Let me see," Felicity demands with excitement. In contrast to the high tech computerized work they're discussing, Kaylee pulls out a slip of paper and hands it over. There aren't more than a dozen names on it and Felicity immediately thinks of three more to add, but there's also at least one that needs to be crossed off. And another that sends a shudder right through her.

Physically.

"What?" Thea asks, brow furrowed as she keys into Felicity's non-verbal cues.

"Nothing," Felicity says, shaking her head and swallowing hard. "Do you have a pen?"

"Sure do," Kayle supplies, handing over the writing instrument without another word.

Felicity quickly jots down three more names, crosses one off and circles another before handing the paper back to Kaylee.

"I don't get it," Kaylee says when Felicity makes no move to explain. "Why'd ya knock off this one guy and circle the other name."

"Because," Felicity supplies, standing up and wiping her palms off on her yoga pants. "Cooper Seldon is dead and Noah Kuttler is my father. I think I know where we need to start looking. So, tell me, where is Oliver?"

The answer surprises her, but maybe it shouldn't. He's already proven a hundred times over that he'd do anything for her, even if it's wildly unpleasant for him.

She leaves Kaylee and Thea behind, along with her half-finished sandwich, takes the list back and makes her way with purpose through Verdant's halls, passing the gym and the mess hall until she reaches Oliver's office. The door is shut, but she doesn't knock before entering. Even before sliding the door open, she can hear his voice on a wave call. It's tinged with frustration and annoyance, and she wonders exactly how many calls like this one he made while she slept.

" _No_ , Captain Lance, I do _not_ want to make a kidnapping report and I don't have proof," Oliver huffs out. A thud follows, possibly him setting something down too hard on his desk or maybe kicking it in frustration, she's not sure which.

" _You know I like your girl and I hate that she's worried, but I can't say as I know what exactly it is you want me to do, Queen_." The voice is distant, grainy through the commlink even as Felicity slides open the door to unmuffle the sound. " _I ain't even in that system and all you've got for evidence is a vague vid conference where she's smilin' and squealin' her congratulations_."

He's getting nowhere with Lance and he knows it, which probably makes it fine that he's wholly distracted by her presence the moment she comes into view and smiles softly at him. Their eyes lock and he answers with a wry twist of his lips and a pained look in his eyes.

This _sucks_. They should be celebrating their engagement. They should be holed away in their room whispering about plans for the future between slow rounds of lovemaking and quick bouts of sleep. But the 'verse, unfortunately, encroaches on those plans. Felicity resents the hell out of it for that.

"Just keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything, okay?" Oliver says, glancing back toward the screen in front of him. "I've gotta go. I'll be in touch."

" _If you say so,_ " Lance's voice echoes dimly before Oliver cuts the wave link and stands up, stepping around the desk to greet her.

"Hey," he says, leaning forward to kiss her gently and sliding his hands down her arms until they fall from her wrists to her hips and he tugs her closer. "How are you?"

"Better now that I'm with you," she says, leaning into him. It's deflection, but it's not untrue and she soaks in his presence like a balm to her soul. He's warm and smells like home and his arms slide around her like he's trying to protect her from the whole 'verse. Knowing him, maybe he is.

"You sleep okay?" he asks into her hair as he presses his lips to the crown of her head. "Did you eat something? You've been out a while."

"Kaylee and Thea brought me food," she says, which is almost an answer, pulling back until she can see his handsome face staring down at her with so much concern and love. Even now, that's grounding. Maybe _especially_ now, that's grounding. "They brought me a list, too."

His brow firms up at that, little wrinkles working their way into his skin as his arms tighten around her more firmly. So, maybe he's trying to protect her from herself right now, too. But they can't live in a bubble. Reality presses in, with its harsh truths and painful twists of fate.

"I refined it," she tells him, pulling the list from her pocket and holding it out for him.

Gingerly, he takes it from her hand and studies it a moment before looking back at her with questions written in his eyes.

"Oliver…" she starts, licking her lips and working through the words in her head before saying them. "Noah Kuttler is my father. I don't know why yet, but I think he kidnapped my mom."

* * *

It is far too big a coincidence that Felicity's father is on the very short list of people capable of masking the signal origin of the wave with Donna. Oliver knows that. Coincidences so rarely turn out to be truly unconnected. But as nervous as that makes Felicity, it's also settled her some, enough that she's functioning in a less panicked way, anyhow, and Oliver is so very grateful.

Noah won't hurt Donna. Felicity seems certain of that. Whatever her father wants, whatever his plans, Felicity's mother isn't really in danger. At least, that's what Felicity insists and she seems to really believe it. He's inclined to go along with her line of thinking, if only because they can't get to New Vegas any faster and it puts them all in a more manageable frame of mind.

For now.

But he's also not willing to underestimate the danger that her father might present just because she says he's not a violent man. She hasn't seen him in nearly two decades. People change. In Oliver's experience, they don't often change for the _better_ , but then his life hasn't exactly been the norm.

So, with the _who_ of it all seemingly answered, they've turned their attention to the _why_ and the _where_. Neither question proves easy to answer. Luckily, they've got more resources on their ship than usual.

"We got us a notion," Mal offers up, clearing his throat before he speaks. Oliver dangles from the top rung of the salmon ladder for a moment, taking in the strange combination of crew members before him - Mal, Roy, Kaylee, Jayne and Constantine.

Dropping down with a solid thud against the metal floor, he walks over to grab a nearby hand towel to drag across his face. Exercise helps clear his head, helps him think. After hours of sorting through surveillance video and wave records with Felicity, it had all started to blur in his head and he'd needed this, the thoughtless rush of adrenaline that brings with it a sense of clarity. Felicity might not need that, her focus is still honed in on her monitor, but he does.

He stretches his neck as he wipes down his face, only pulling the towel away when he hears a little sigh.

Kaylee's staring blatantly at his stomach, and he can't help the chuckle that rises up at the ridiculousness of her openly leering at him.

"You okay there, Kaylee?" he asks lightly, with an amused quirk of his lips and a raised eyebrow. Her gaze snaps up to meet his.

"I'm a-okay, Cap'n," she assures him. "Mighty fine, even. We can all talk with you up there on that rung flexin' about, you didn't need t' stop. We don't wanna be no bother."

Say what you will about Kaylee Frye, but at least she's consistent.

"I could do that," Jayne grumbles, gesturing toward the salmon ladder. "If I wanted."

"Sure you could," Mal says, patting Jayne placatingly on the shoulder. "We ain't here to oogle the cap'n, Kaylee."

"Hell of a perk, though," she advises. "I can't say as I can fathom how Felicity gets a thing done with all _that_ goin' on."

Quirky and amusing as Kaylee might be, Oliver grabs himself a shirt and tugs it over his head because he realizes very quickly that this isn't going anywhere if he doesn't.

"Awww…" Kaylee bemoans, her shoulders sagging. Constantine lets out a bit of a huff, too, and Roy looks between the two crewmates as though they're beyond ridiculous and he's more than slightly grossed out.

"What's the notion?" Oliver asks, striding towards the others.

"See, we got us a specific skill set," Mal starts off.

"Criminals," Roy deadpans. "He means we're thieves and pickpockets, at least in part."

Oliver nods at Roy because righteous vigilantes or not, good-conscienced mercenaries or not, there is a clear element of the illegal to what they do.

"We figured we oughta come at this from that there point of view," Mal continues. "So far as figurin' out the whys of it all."

"And you came up with something?" Oliver prods.

"There's no shortage of attractive targets in New Vegas, mate," Constantine chimes in. "It's a criminal's playground, full of all manner of savory delights for the likes of us."

"So we took a gander at what our wish list would be if we were goin' after a target in New Vegas," Mal supplies.

"An' we looked for where any of that intersected with Felicity's mom," Kaylee adds.

Oliver's nearly holding his breath waiting for them to elaborate because it feels very much like they've got something. "What did you find?" he asks.

"The casino her mom works at," Mal tells him. "She's been there a long time, gets her access to parts nobody new would be able to get into. She works the high stakes poker rooms, very exclusive, and they like to decorate for their clientele."

A picture starts to paint itself and it makes a whole lot of sense. In his wilder days, he'd spent a fair bit of time and a whole lot more money in rooms just like those, gambling away chunks of his trust fund, often with Tommy and Inara at his side. It's been a long time, but he remembers the kind of decadence displayed in places like that, obscene gestures of wealth made to impress the ultra-rich.

"What's on display right now?" he asks.

"Earth-that-was exhibit on loan from a private collector," Kaylee informs him. "They got them a huge display spread out across the high roller rooms. It's all real highly guarded and worth more credits than I can count."

"He's not after Donna," Oliver realizes aloud. "He's after her access."

"That there would be the notion we had," Mal confirms.

"Who are the artifacts on loan from?" Oliver asks.

"It's anonymous, but…" Kaylee starts, looking toward Roy like she really doesn't want to be the one to finish her statement.

"But _what_?" Oliver asks, irritation shading his tone.

"But we've seen some of it before," Roy replies with a grimace, the burden of elaborating falling to him. "It's Bertinelli's."

" _Tā mā de_ ," Oliver swears.

"It gets worse," Mal tells him, with a wince.

"My fiancée's mother was kidnapped by her ex-husband so she could be set up for the theft of priceless artifacts from the Italian mob and it gets _worse_?" he boggles.

"Casino she works at belongs to the Bratva," Mal informs him.

"You're telling me that the Italian mob loaned a fortune to the Bratva?" Oliver asks. " _Why_? It's not like they're allies."

"If you were looking to pay off someone quietly from one mob to another, can you think of a better way than 'loaning' priceless artifacts?" Roy asks.

No, Oliver realizes. He can't. One slightly-less-priceless piece being left behind when the rest of the collection is reclaimed isn't going to raise a lot of eyebrows because the focus will be elsewhere. The whole thing is steeped in legitimate business enough and done in the open enough that it's probably totally bypassed suspicion… and it would have kept doing so if not for Donna's disappearance.

"Who runs that casino?" he demands, his thumb worrying against his forefinger as he hopes beyond hope that he's wrong. He's not though. He knows better.

"Maxim controls the whole city," Roy tells him.

And, with those five words, everything just became so much more complicated.

"I need to talk to Anatoly," Oliver announces. " _Now_. I have to warn him."

"About the theft?" Kaylee asks. "That a good idea?"

She doesn't get it, doesn't have the experience with the mob to know better and has too good a heart to even consider the truth. But he knows with absolute certainty what's going on. At least, in part.

"No," Oliver counters. "I need to warn him that Bertinelli paid off Maxim to have him killed. And I need to do it _now_ before he takes a shot, assuming he hasn't already."


	48. Chapter 48

There's something so familiar about the room Donna's in. Felicity knows that. But, even after watching that same wave for the thousandth time or so, she can't pinpoint it. She's _been_ there. She's almost positive. The decor had thrown her off at first, but there's something about the wood panelling that itches at the recesses of her memory, lingering just out of the reach of her conscious mind.

It's slowly driving her nuts.

Showing considerably more composure than the day before, Felicity shuts off the monitor and takes a break. It's almost redundant at this point, anyhow. She can damned near see the image of her mom imprinted on the backs of her eyelids by now. But, Oliver had been right. So had Thea and Kaylee. She needs to pace herself, to take care of herself, because this is all a long way from over.

With a stretch that feels better than it should, Felicity stands up and looks around her room. She's been in here too damned long and it's helping absolutely nothing at this point. She needs to get out, get some fresh air - such as it is on a spaceship - and interact with actual people. Oliver's checked on her a few times, keeping her up to date on theories and progress. He's sent Kaylee or Thea or, once, Inara to see how she's doing even more often. But, even though she'd been less hyper-focused on her objective than before, she still hadn't been exactly pleasant company.

Checking her reflection with a sigh, Felicity takes a moment to pull her hair back in a fresh ponytail and put on some lipstick. It makes her feel more like herself and that buoys her spirits more than she'd expected. She leaves the room feeling like they're more on track and prepared than the last time she'd ventured forth.

It doesn't take long to find Oliver. And, when she does, the sight of him with a furrowed brow, all business as he talks to Alina in his office, warms her heart.

"Hey," she says through the open door, leaning against its frame.

Oliver's eyes meet hers immediately, something softening as he soaks in her presence. Alina might as well not even be in the room.

"Hey," he echoes, rounding his desk to greet her with a soft kiss to her temple and a gentle slide of his hand down her arm. "How are you doing?"

"Okay," she assures him, forcing a thin smile onto her face. It's pained, but it's genuine. "Really. I'm okay. Did you find anything new?"

"Not really," Oliver sighs. It's obvious how much this bothers him. "I haven't been able to get through to Anatoly. He's gone dark, but I think that's intentional.. Ally's been catching me up on some of the Bratva politics I've missed."

"Thank you," Felicity says, turning to acknowledge the other woman in the room. Alina tilts her head in deference.

"Of course," she says. "This is my duty. It is the least I could do after all you have both risked for me."

Something about that doesn't sit well with Felicity. She's grateful for Alina's sense of loyalty, but there's no debt to be repaid. "You don't owe us anything," she says. "You know that right?"

The assertion makes Alina wary and she nods curtly in response. Oliver squeezes Felicity's hand and she looks up to him. He says nothing, but she reads his face well. _That's not how the Bratva works_ , he's saying. _She has never known anything but a balance of debts._

"I'm very grateful for all of your help, though," Felicity adds, looking back toward Alina again. "I'm sure your insight is invaluable."

The other woman breathes out a sigh of relief at that. She has only ever been deemed important for the information she relays, Felicity realizes suddenly. This is the only reality she's ever experienced. And while she might have put distance between herself and the Bratva, its influence on her is lifelong and soul-deep.

"Maxim has been chafing under Anatoly's leadership for some time," she says. "To take aim at him directly is quite bold, though. I would not have thought him capable of it. And it is even more surprising when we discover that these plans have been in place for some time."

"How long?" Felicity asks, looking between Oliver and Alina.

"The artifacts have been on loan since before we left Solntsevskaya," Oliver tells her. "And I'm sure negotiations would have started well before that."

"So before his wife was valued as a conspirator," Felicity deduces.

"Yes," Alina confirms. "This is not in retaliation for her capture. Maxim has had plans in motion far longer than that."

"What does that mean to us?" Felicity questions, looking to Oliver for answers. "What does it mean for my mom?"

"It means we have to be careful," Oliver tells her. His hold on her hands is so gentle, his calloused thumbs running over her knuckles in soothing circles. "It's good that we know, so we can take this as seriously as we need to. I won't let anything happen to your mom if I can help it, Felicity. She's family. But if we aren't very careful about how we do this, it could escalate into a mob war."

The very idea of that gives her chills. She'd been too young the last time there was a mob war to know much about what was going on, but even then she'd seen the effects of it. Not long before her father had left, the entire atmosphere of New Vegas had changed. Her mother had become increasingly protective, keeping her away from the casinos where she'd previously munched on nachos at the bar. Even as a little girl, seen through the haze of her own annoyance at having her freedoms taken away, she'd understood something greater was going on, even if she hadn't known what. It had permeated the atmosphere of New Vegas overall. Her parents had stopped watching the news entirely, adults were quieter, kids played outside less, and the hushed arguments between her mom and dad had started.

"We can't let that happen," Felicity replies. He nods in agreement. They're on the same page there, for sure. "It would tear New Vegas apart. The Bratva might be a dangerous element to the city, but at least it's stable. A power vacuum at the top with the Italians trying to muscle in? I can't even imagine what that would do to my homeworld, Oliver. I don't want to."

"I know," he says. "We won't let it get to that point. There's too much at stake for that."

The reality of how much is at stake - her mother, her homeworld, the stability of the Bratva that her soon-to-be-husband is a very real part of - hits her hard. Despite the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, they don't even have the beginnings of a plan.

"There are contacts I have," Alina chimes in. "Bratva women of various standing on New Vegas. Should we have need for them, you need only ask."

"How much do you trust them?" Oliver asks immediately. That he seems poised to take her at her word speaks volumes about how much his opinion on her has changed these last few weeks. It hadn't been that long ago he thought her power-hungry and hadn't even wanted to _talk_ to her.

"That depends on which contact you are asking about, no?" she replies with a little laugh. It hadn't been that long ago that laughter had seemed impossible from her, too.

"I don't think Alina getting involved is a good idea," Felicity ventures, to both Oliver and Alina's surprise. "Getting away from the Bratva has been so good for you, Alina. I would hate to see you pulled back in after everything you've gone through."

The gentle smile that tugs at Alina's lips speaks of a peace and a quiet affection that makes the other woman seem content in a way she most surely never had been while on Solntsevskaya.

"I am already free, Felicity," Alina tells her. "A month ago, I would have been kept silently in the background. For the first time in my life, I have my own voice and I will use it to help you, to help _us_ , if there is value to be had there."

There is a strength about Alina now, a seed of independence and willpower, that Felicity had first glimpsed hints of all those weeks ago at 'tea' with the wives. And, though they are very different women with very different paths in their lives, whose journeys have intersected in the most surprising and unusual of ways, Felicity finds a growing respect for Alina, for all she's been through and who she's become in spite of it.

"We'll let you know," Oliver tells Alina. "For now, I think the fewer people we pull into things the better. Even if they're trustworthy, there's a danger to anyone involved."

Alina nods in agreement.

"How far out are we from New Vegas, now?" Felicity asks, looking up at Oliver as he lets go of one of her hands to touch her back near the base of her spine, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

"Eight hours, give or take," comes a voice from behind her. Felicity jolts and turns to see Constantine leaning lazily against the doorframe. "'Ello. My, Alina, aren't you looking positively stunning today."

To Felicity's absolute amazement, the other woman blushes slightly and gives a small shrug. "Thank you, Mr. Constantine," she replies.

"Please, love," he says, putting a hand over his heart. "It's John."

"John," she nods, biting her lip as he grins back.

Good lord, they're flirting. It's weird as hell and Felicity finds it totally throwing her for a loop, but that's nothing compared to poor Oliver. She looks up to find him blinking between the two like it makes absolute no sense to him at all. And, considering his history with Alina and Constantine's tendency to flirt with anyone he finds attractive, _including_ Oliver, it probably doesn't. His hand is sort of frozen on Felicity's back at this point.

"If we're only eight hours out, we should all try and get some sleep," Felicity advises. "It's getting late anyhow, and we might not have much of a chance once we get to New Vegas."

"Right brilliant idea," Constantine nods. "Alina, might I escort you to your room?"

"Please, John, call me Ally," she tells him, striding over to him and tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

Constantine just winks over his shoulder at Oliver and Felicity as he and Alina leave. It's a long moment before Oliver says anything.

"Did that just happen?" he asks finally.

Felicity laughs lightly, reaching up to touch his cheek and pressing up on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Try not to think about it too much," she advises.

"That might be hard," he replies with the most ridiculous fake pout she's ever seen. "You might have to distract me."

"Oh really?" she challenges with a grin.

" _Really_ ," he replies heavily, leaning down to kiss her again.

For an instant, it's absolutely perfect. For an instant, she actually forgets everything else going on, that her mother has been kidnapped and they're on the verge of a mob war. It's lovely while it lasts, while the soft press of Oliver's lips to hers and the firm grip of his hands on her waist make everything else melt away, but that also only serves to make her feel more guilty when they part and reality crashes back down on her.

It's obvious that he sees the instant that happens.

"Hey, don't," he advises, releasing her waist with one hand to cup the side of her face. "You can take moments for yourself even when bad things are happening, too."

She nods in reply, but it's solemn and she knows it's far from convincing. "Yeah…"

"Felicity, if there is one thing in this 'verse that I'm sure of about your mother," Oliver says, "it's that she is absolutely overjoyed that we're together. So don't feel guilty about being happy, honey. It's what she _wants_."

That sinks home. She's watched that damned wave of her mother a million times by now and there's no denying her mother's absolute glee over their engagement, even though she was being held captive.

"You're right," Felicity agrees. It's far more certain than before. "You're right. Thank you. I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, kissing her gently as he strokes the line of her cheekbone. When they part, it's with a soft sigh from both of them that speaks to the easiness and contentment they've found with each other. A fire burns steadily between them, too, hot and full of desire, but there's also a sense of unity, of partnership, that forms the very foundation of who they are as a couple. She finds herself leaning on that now, relying on him for emotional support in a way that she's never quite let herself reach with anyone else. It's freeing, in a way, allowing herself be vulnerable to him, having that level of absolute trust. "Let's get some sleep," he adds.

She lets him lead her through the halls, his arm around her and her head pillowed against his shoulder. And when they get to their room, they both undress and lay down together before he wraps her up in his embrace. It feels like peace, like security, and she drifts to sleep with surprising ease, his warmth at her back and one of his legs wrapped around hers.

It's a far deeper, more restful slumber than her last and neither of them wakes until a knock sounds on their door hours later.

Sometime during their slumber, they'd shifted so that she was mostly beneath him, his body pinning her in a way that absolutely would have led to a very different kind of morning under almost any other circumstance. Even today, the temptation is there, but willpower easily overpowers that as reality sets in.

New Vegas.

Her mom.

Looming mob war.

Yeah, that's enough to dampen her lust, even with Oliver still passed out on top of her.

"Oliver… honey, the door," she tells him. Her voice is rough with disuse and he groans, still mostly asleep, as she scrapes her fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to wake him.

It's very clear how dim his awareness is when his hands fumble down to grip her hips as he buries his nose in her neck and rocks against her slightly. She hisses through her teeth at that and shuts her eyes hard. There is absolutely no opportunity to give into this. Not _now_.

Later, she vows silently. Dear _God_ , later.

"Oliver," she tries again, but it comes out as more of a gasp than the insistent voice she intends, because he's ever so slightly more awake and his tongue is doing something to her neck that makes her brain short circuit momentarily. But then another knock sounds on their door, a bit louder and a little more insistent, and her mind comes back to her. " _Honey_." She pushes on his shoulder until he pulls back slightly, blinking at her.

 _Oh_ , he's so endearingly bleary-eyed that it makes her melt a bit. Damn it. No melting right now, Felicity. This is not melty time.

"New Vegas," she tells him, watching as awareness slowly dawns in his eyes.

He pinches his eyes with his fingers, wiping away sleep as he supports himself with one arm, still looming over Felicity. It should really not be as hot as it is, but _damn it_ , he's always been a weakness for her, but doubly so when he's half asleep and shirtless and all over her. "Yeah," he sighs, pressing off the mattress to sit up. "Yeah, okay."

The knock sounds again, slightly louder. It's Digg, she realizes, or _possibly_ Inara. No one else on the crew would be that considerate. They'd be pounding by now or, in some cases, just barging in. "Coming!" she calls out.

"I'm gonna need a minute," Oliver tells her, leaning down to give her a soft kiss before forcing himself off the bed. She stretches out languidly as the mattress jostles, yawning as her arms reach up and her back arches. Her yawn is loud, but even with that she clearly hears the moan of longing Oliver makes as her mostly nude form lengthens against the sheets of his bed. And _wow_ does the look on his face when she opens her eyes send a bolt of something straight through her. He licks his lips as he eyes her form, hands clenched into tight fists that he's clearly fighting to keep pressed to his thighs. And… yeah, his interest in her is very fully on display at the moment. "...And some very cold water."

She absolutely cannot help the grin that works its way across her face at that declaration or the way her entire body tightens with delight and arousal, but it also doesn't do him any favors and he clears his throat as he puts some physical distance between them. "Sorry," she tells him, even though she's not. She's really not.

"Grab the door, honey," he says, shaking his head as he disappears into the bathroom with a pair of pants in hand.

The bathroom door snicks shut and Felicity pouts a bit at his disappearance in spite of the situation, but she also finds herself thinking a bit clearer. And, glancing at the clock, she can already guess what Digg wants.

And it _is_ Digg at their door, she finds out a few moments later after tossing on a sweater of Oliver's and tugging on a pair of pants.

"Sorry to wake you guys," he tells her regretfully. "I know how rough these last few days have been."

"S'okay, Digg," she assures him, covering her mouth as she yawns. "We there?"

"In orbit," he replies. "Wash is gonna put her down just as soon as we get clearance to land." That's only part of why he's here, though, and Felicity knows it. So, when concern lines his features and his hand sits heavily on her shoulder, she's not in the least surprised. "How are you holding up?"

Digg's question isn't a casual one, he's not asking because he wants to hear her say " _oh, I'm fine_ " or something in that vein. No, he really wants to know, so she mulls her answer before speaking.

"Better," she settles on finally. "Oliver helps… so, _so_ much. And as bad as things are, as bad as they could get, I believe in us, in our team. That helps too."

"Good," he tells her, squeezing her shoulder lightly before letting go. "I'm glad."

The bathroom door clicks behind her as Oliver strides back out. She turns her head slightly to see him freshly clothed and patting his face with a towel before tossing it into their laundry bin and heading her way. He doesn't stop until he's right next to her, arm wrapped around her waist and pressing a kiss to her shoulder before looking up toward Digg.

"We'll be on the ground in a few minutes," Digg offers up.

Oliver nods. "We need to get everyone together, work out a plan of attack. Not… literally," he adds at the started look that Digg gives him.

"Cargo bay?" Felicity asks, leaning into Oliver as she looks up at him. "I think we have too many people for the mess at this point."

She's right and both Digg and Oliver know that, so the two men head off to round everyone up while Felicity changes clothes for the day.

It doesn't feel to _her_ like it takes that long to get ready, but it must be longer than she assumed. The ship sets down as she does her makeup, the telltale rattle of the engines thrusters nearly making her poke her eye with her eyeliner. By the time she reaches the cargo bay, deeming herself acceptably attired for Oliver Queen's fiancée visiting the swankier side of New Vegas, everyone else is already there and the meeting is well under way.

Thea immediately takes her by the arm, looping her hand around Felicity's elbow and leaning her cheek against the older woman's shoulder. With Thea, it seems, once she deems you family, you're fully accepted in that role and Felicity finds herself enjoying her soon-to-be sister-in-law's easy affection almost as much as she likes the marvel on Oliver's face as he soaks in their closeness.

Okay, that's a lie. Oliver's face totally wins every time. She can't even pretend otherwise.

"We got this, Sis," Thea assures her quietly as Wash asks Mal something across the bay. Felicity flushes with joy at the title, and she leans her head in toward Thea, returning the gesture. "Look at everybody here to help find your mom."

And it's true. There are a tremendous number of people on their team these days. All of them are in this room, clearly ready and willing to go to bat for her and her mom. A rush of gratitude runs through her as she looks around. This crew, _these_ crews, have somehow become a family. Dysfunctional at times, maybe, but a family nonetheless. She can't even pinpoint when that happened, but as Kaylee smiles her way, Book smiles softly and Mal gives her a little nod… she knows full well that it did. And she is _so_ grateful.

"...got it?"

It's Oliver's voice cutting through her thoughts and, she realizes with some embarrassment, that she's missed the whole plan. No one else seems to have, though, because they're all giving some varying form of agreement.

"Huh?" she asks, sounding precisely as put together as she feels.

The look Oliver gives her is blatantly affectionate, honed in entirely on her, and she hears Thea mutter "Heart-eyes" with amusement.

"You're with me," he tells her, as if that explains everything. In some ways, she supposes, it does. The knowing smile from Inara as she walks past surely says she agrees.

In fact, Felicity realizes, nearly everyone is splitting up and moving on, executing whatever tasks Oliver had laid out for them. Thea keeps hold of her arm, though, chuckling in great amusement as Felicity tries to catch up.

"Surveillance," Oliver tells her, closing in on her and his sister. "Mostly, anyhow. I've got some of Serenity's crew staying aboard to keep watch over Verdant. We need the Tams kept out of sight and I don't trust Verdant to be left alone, anyhow. Not right now. The rest of Mal's people are going with Roy and Sara to check the black market, seedier bars, underground contacts, see what they can find. Except for Inara, she's has to visit the local companion guild since she's on world. Thea and Digg are going to join us at the casino. We'll check into the hotel and see what we can find out from the inside."

"But… they'll know who we are," Felicity protests, looking between the Queen siblings.

"No way around that," Thea scoffs. "These kinds of places cater to people like us. They'll know me and Ollie on sight."

"So will Maxim and his people," Oliver points out. "We can't go under the radar, so we might as well use our visibility to our advantage."

"How?" Felicity asks warily.

"With _lots_ of diamonds," Thea says happily.

"I'm sorry… say that again?" Felicity requests. "But maybe with slightly more clarity… which was not a pun, by the way."

Oliver chuckles and grabs hold of her hand. "We're going shopping," he informs her. "I'm going to buy my fiancée some suitable jewelry. Then, we'll inform the hotel we need to have it secured when you aren't wearing it and that you're nervous about its safety, that we need assurances there's no risk of theft. That'll get us a basic overview of their security protocols and hopefully give us a window to lift their archived video surveillance tapes so we can put together a better timeline of what your mom was up to the last few weeks, look for clues."

She blinks at him. "Will that _work_?"

"You'd be amazed what the last name Queen and tossing around some money will get you," Thea informs her, thoroughly unruffled. "You'll see."

"In this case, my Bratva connection probably doesn't hurt either," Oliver points out. "For now… I can't imagine Maxim will be happy to see me, but he also won't expect we have any idea what's going on. He'll play nice just to keep his plan in motion."

"Until Anatoly shows up in two days, anyhow," Felicity muses, working the details over in her head. "Okay… so what's our first step?"

"First," he says, looking more excited than anyone should about inserting themselves in the middle of a looming mob war and their fiancée's mother's kidnapping, "we check into our hotel. Then we have a nice brunch at the best restaurant we can find, very visibly. Then, I'm taking you to Eos and Astraios before we play some cards."

Her eyes must bug out tremendously at that. It certainly feels like they do. It's not every day someone announces their intent to take her to the most exclusive jeweler in the 'verse. In fact, in her life experience thus far, it's not actually _any_ day that someone announces that. But she's pretty sure she heard him correctly when Thea squeals and claps her hands with far too much excitement.

"You're taking me _where_?" she asks, blinking up at him in astonishment. And _wow_ is he proud of himself for that reaction if the too-pleased grin on his face is any indicator. "That's… That's like…"

"Like something I should buy my wife," he supplies. The look on his face seems like he's both waiting for her to debate this with him and that he's more than certain he's right. And he _is_ … he is, when she thinks about it. Oliver Queen's wife would absolutely have all sorts of ridiculously expensive things. But sometimes she forgets she's marrying _Oliver Queen_ because it's only ever been the _Oliver_ part that's mattered to her.

"That's… not… me," she manages stiltedly, before she realizes how that sounds and rushes to correct herself. "I mean the buying things part, not the wife part. I'm super here for the wife part. Absolutely on board with that excellent plan. But I don't need jewelry that costs as much as a ship. You know that right? Like, that's a thing that's clear? What would I even do with jewelry like that?"

He laughs a little and shakes his head fondly at her. "For now? Wear it for a bit while we gamble, then stow it away in the casino safe so we can get security access. After we get your mom back? Maybe save it for special occasions."

"Like your honeymoon," Thea chimes in with a dirty grin and a wink her way.

The comment is obviously something that throws Oliver because on one hand it's his sister making it, but on the other, Felicity's absolutely certain he's picturing her in bed wearing nothing other than a ridiculously expensive necklace. He blinks hard and coughs, shaking his head as he looks to the side, which is something that only makes Thea laugh harder before slapping him on the shoulder. "Smooth, big bro," she tells him.

"That is… an idea," Felicity says boldly, surprising both of the Queens. Thea's eyebrows shoot up in some mixture of admiration, surprise and probably mild disgust - Oliver is her brother after all - but it's Oliver's reaction that interests her far more. He's blushing, but his pupils have blown so wide at this idea that she can scarcely see the blue of his eyes anymore. And… yeah, she's going to be keeping whatever he gets her for very special occasions. Starting with their honeymoon.

"What'd you do to Oliver?"

Felicity turns to find Digg closing in on them, his gaze fixed on their captain's beet-red cheeks and his question still lingering in the air.

"Just… giving him a little motivation," Thea supplies, casting her amused eyes toward Digg. He's dressed differently than usual, Felicity realizes suddenly, differently than he had been at the meeting just a short while ago. He's in a nondescript black suit with a visible ear piece the likes of which the team hasn't used since she joined it and upgraded literally everything.

Bodyguard. It dawns on her suddenly. He's playing the part of their bodyguard. Well, maybe more than playing the part, really, if she's going to be wearing the most expensive piece of jewelry she's ever seen.

"I don't need to know," Digg announces. "We ready to hit this town?"

Oliver nods and Felicity takes a deep breath. "I guess so," she agrees, punching the button for the cargo bay door. "Welcome to New Vegas."


	49. Chapter 49

Things change, years pass, worlds get terraformed and companies rise and fall. And yet, Felicity will always know the blistering dry heat of her homeworld the moment she sets foot on its sand-laced soil.

Metaphorically speaking, anyhow. This time, she'd actually stepped out onto a literal red carpet rolled out for them across the concrete.

Having money was weird.

But that was kind of beside the point. Home, no matter where she's gone or how long she's been gone, will always be immediately recognizable to her, even when everything that _made_ it home is absent.

Like her mom.

Looking at Oliver, who is talking amiably in Russian with someone from the hotel as they make their way toward the hotel lobby, she thinks that maybe, as much as she loves her mom and has fond memories of her homeworld, there are other things that constitute home for her now.

"You okay?" Digg asks from her other side, jarring her and pulling her attention toward him and Thea.

"Sure," she replies, soaking in the ambiance as they all head in through a private entryway to the casino. The hall they pour into is ridiculously ornate, gilded so much that it's distracting. It's a poor fit in her memory for the world she grew up on, the one with bar nachos and a cramped two bedroom apartment in the slightly-less-than-awful part of town. She'd _known_ there was this side of it too, of course. New Vegas is known for this, but it's still so foreign that it suddenly makes her feel like a stranger in the very place she'd grown up. "Just sort of wondering if I need to learn Russian. This is my homeworld, but it kinda feels like he's more at ease here than I am."

"That has nothing to do with Russian. It's because you aren't used to this side of New Vegas," Thea replies, waving off her concerns. She's right, of course, and Felicity knows that, but that doesn't make it any less of a strange thought. "You'll get used to it; Just act like you belong here and you will. You're _Oliver Queen's_ fiancée. No one is going to question your presence."

Felicity's had enough undercover missions under her belt to know that half of fitting in is acting like it. So, rationally she's well aware that what Thea is saying is true, but emotionally it's completely different. Because this is her life now. This isn't a mission. Not really, not like the other times. This is reality. She _is_ Oliver's fiancée and it's easy to forget that this comes with that, too, that she isn't just marrying Oliver, she's marrying a _Queen_ and that changes things drastically.

"We'll go shopping later," Thea tells her confidently. "You need armor."

"Armor?" Felicity questions, raising an eyebrow.

"You think I like Gucci for the label?" Thea asks with a little laugh before turning thoughtful. "I mean, I guess I do, but it's not about that. Fashion is your shield. You'll see."

Felicity's brow must furrow at that or possibly Thea is psychic because she follows up addressing Felicity's inner thoughts with stunningly well-honed precision.

"It doesn't have to be for every day," Thea assures her. "You don't want to tinker with engines in designer wear and you _know_ Oliver loves you every bit as much in greasy overalls as he does in couture, but for public appearances, you'll appreciate the extra layer of protection and confidence fashion can give you."

To Felicity's surprise, Digg is nodding along like he understands and agrees entirely. "Uniforms come in all kinds, Felicity," he advises sagely. The look on his face makes her think that he's remembering his time in the Alliance, the things he'd done in _that_ uniform, for better or worse, but she knows not to bring it up.

"Do you think we could go right away?" she asks, looking toward Thea and finding her future sister-in-law blinking in surprise. Felicity's eyes dart around the room as they wind up in the main lobby. Oliver is a few paces in front of her greeting someone she vaguely remembers from Solntsevskaya. His presence makes her uneasy and the designer _everything_ being worn by the handful of people on this side of the room makes her best dress feel like something off the sale rack… which it had been. "Armor sounds really good about now."

The pleased look that works its way across Thea's face almost makes Felicity second guess this idea because it's more than a little bit calculating, but then that's Thea.

"Ollie," Thea says loudly, striding over toward him with a kind of confidence that comes along with _knowing_ you belong and feeling that entitlement to your very core. She entirely ignores everyone who works at the hotel. They might as well be invisible to her. Having been on that end of things most of her life, it irks Felicity a little bit, but she also knows this is a role they're playing today and there's a purpose there. "I'm taking Felicity shopping. We'll charge it to your room."

Indecision flits across Oliver's face for a moment and Felicity knows it has everything to do with the two most important women in his life going off on their own in the middle of a situation that could escalate at any time and nothing at all to do with spending money. But Anatoly isn't here yet, there's no reason to think anyone has any clue why they're on New Vegas, and there's something to be said for keeping up appearances.

Oliver suddenly abandons his conversation with Maxim's lackey - Felicity recognizes the man for certain, now; He's somewhere mid-rung on Maxim's part of the Bratva totem pole, _way_ below Oliver - and he hones in entirely on Felicity, walking over and pulling her close, his hands on her hips and his nose nearly brushing hers. She breathes in sharply, thrown for a moment by how very public he's being with his affection. Part of her wonders if his actions are driven by wanting to further their cover or if they're borne out of the almost giddy feeling still bubbling up inside at being engaged.

Probably both, she decides.

"Be careful," he advises her quietly, his voice low enough that no one but her can hear it. "Stick to the shops in the hotel. You're under Bratva protection for now." Because no one knows why they're there, she realizes. Once they do, it'll be a different situation entirely with Maxim and his men. "Buy everything you want."

"Mmm," she agrees, even if the idea of splurging with his money feels fundamentally wrong to her. This is about the mission, though, not just a shopping spree, so rising up on her toes, she presses a soft kiss to his lips. "Keeping up appearances is important."

He lets out a little laugh at that and shakes his head, his breath ghosting across her lips. "Honey, you can always have absolutely anything I can offer you. I want to share everything with you."

'Share' feels like the key word there and she knows she brings a whole lot less to the financial situation between them. It leaves her a touch uncomfortable, makes her feel like she's taking advantage, but this absolutely isn't the time for that conversation and this is mission-related so she'll let it slide. This time.

"Alright, alright," Thea declares, grabbing Felicity's arm and yanking her away slightly. "She's mine for the next two hours. You can have her back after we're done."

"Hour and a half," Oliver barters, giving Thea a heavy look. "We have other things to do."

"Fine," Thea relents. "Hour and a half and she'll meet you for brunch, but no more heart-eyes at each other right now or I won't have time to work my magic."

"Have a good time," Oliver tells Felicity again, kissing her swiftly as Thea tugs her arm with a solid yank that's frankly got more power to it than she'd have expected. "Digg…" he continues, looking toward the bodyguard/friend/first-mate/partner.

"Oh, hell no," Digg declares. "I am not going shopping with them. They don't need protection here and you know it."

"I wasn't going to say that," Oliver tells him. "I need you with me. I'm going to have to drop by and see Maxim. It would be a bad idea to go alone."

Hell yes it would. "Thea, hang on," Felicity says. The other girl drops her arm and Felicity takes the few steps back toward Oliver, taking hold of his face with both hands and kissing him hard. "Be careful."

There's no need to be concerned, not about this, but he clearly appreciates her worry anyhow, a broad grin spreading across his face, his eyes softening as he soaks her in. "I will be," he promises.

She could stand there and bask in this connection between them all day long, but there _are_ things to do and Thea isn't what anyone would call patient. The younger woman pulls her away, hands linked together as she waves over her shoulder in her brother's direction, fingers wiggling dismissively. She doesn't even glance back.

"Where are we going?" Felicity asks, tearing her eyes from Oliver when she nearly trips over the edge of some carpet.

"That you even asked shows exactly how much work we have to do," Thea informs her.

Even as they go against the grain of a growing crowd, Thea walks with so much confidence that people immediately get out of her way. It's like a bubble of status protects them both from the masses and it's _weird_. Felicity's seen this before, of course. She's spent enough time at casinos - at this particular casino, even - to be well aware that this happens, but being at the center of it is beyond strange.

Still… it's part of the persona they're playing, or maybe the life she's suddenly living, so it works to their advantage right now. Before she knows it, they're walking into one of the absurdly expensive shops that line the front of the casino's main entry, leaving the crowds behind them.

It's the kind of place that Felicity's suspected charges you just to breathe the air, and the sudden sense that someone might recognize she doesn't actually belong there washes over her with an uneasiness that settles in her gut. Thea, however, clearly has no such problem.

"We need a new wardrobe," she announces loftily toward the pair of women waxing the racks. "Head to toe, at least five full outfits for both everyday and eveningwear. And we don't have much time."

Neither of the women appear to recognize Thea on sight, but they surely recognize money when they see it because they're _far_ more accommodating than Felicity imagines they'd have been if she'd dared to come in alone.

"Of course," one of the women says, scurrying over. "For both of you, or…?"

"For my brother's fiancée," Thea says, fingering some of the material on a blouse next to her with a quiet hum. "We've made arrangements to charge everything to his room. Oliver Queen."

The alertness the two saleswomen display clearly indicates that while they might not have recognized Thea, they surely recognize her brother's name. And the way they look toward Felicity with fresh eyes leaves her feeling a little bit like she's under a microscope. Whatever else they see when they look at her, Felicity's damned certain they see dollar signs.

"Absolutely, Miss Queen," the other saleswoman says. "It will absolutely be our pleasure to help you both today." Yeah… Felicity just bets it will. "Right this way, if you please?"

The next hour or so is an absolute whirlwind. Shopping with Thea is exhausting and Felicity's not sure she's ever felt this catered to in her entire life. The saleswomen had known her measurements on sight and it had been a nonstop stream of strikingly beautiful clothes that Thea had either given a thumbs up or a wrinkled nose to ever since.

It's two glasses of champagne later before Felicity realizes that absolutely nothing has a price tag on it. She's on the verge of saying something about that when one of the saleswomen walks back into the little room they've taken up with an entirely different sort of clothes over her arm and Felicity turns pink cheeked.

"What?" Thea asks with a huge grin over the rim of her champagne glass. "Every girl needs some sexy nightwear, right? Oooooh… go for the green one."

The 'green one' in question is all barely-there lace with actual _garters_ and Felicity finds herself blushing even more fiercely just thinking about trying it on, but… but, yeah, the idea of surprising Oliver in _that_ is incredibly enticing.

"No offense, but I don't want to see this one," Thea tells her. "If it fits, get it. And remind my darling brother that lace is delicate, will you?"

Oh God, she's probably tomato-red at this point, but she grabs the lingerie before heading back behind a curtain.

It fits. It fits _perfectly_ and she absolutely isn't showing Thea. But she will damned well show Oliver later. Because… yeah, this time she doesn't even care how much it costs. This one is really way more for Oliver than for her anyhow, even if she'll surely reap some of the benefits as well, and she's positive he'll consider it money well spent.

All-in-all, Felicity winds up nearly doubling her wardrobe. From shoes and belts to dresses and undergarments. Neither she nor Thea ask how much it all costs. Thea clearly doesn't care and Felicity's more than a little afraid to find out. All but one outfit is promptly sent up to her room. The last ensemble, her favorite of the daytime wear, is something she wears out of the store, her hair and makeup freshly done by Thea. And, as she walks back out amongst the crowd, she finds it very much _does_ feel like armor.

But that's not how Oliver sees it when she walks into the restaurant to meet him for brunch. No, the way his eyes travel up and down her form, the way he licks his lips as he takes her in, it tells a wholly different story of how he views her.

And she likes it very much.

Thea sticks around just long enough to take pleasure in her handiwork before heading up to her room, leaving Oliver and Felicity alone.

It is not a Cinderella moment for her - she has always felt beautiful in his eyes - but she does feel transformed. And, likely owing entirely to his obvious appreciation of her new look, she finds herself comfortable in this designer armor, even if it doesn't feel natural.

She will always be more ponytails and grease stains than hand-washed clothes with no price tags.

But there's room for this in her life, too. This, she realizes, is part and parcel of this new role she's taking on, of becoming Oliver Queen's wife, of becoming a _Queen_. It's going to take some adjustment, but that's okay because Oliver will be there with her through all of it, her rock, unwavering and solid. And, truth be told, she wouldn't have it any other way.

"You look…" he starts as he stands from his seat at the table to greet her. He can't seem to quite finish his thought, though, shaking his head instead as he drinks her in. To call that flattering would be an understatement.

"Thank you," she replies in a quiet voice as she reaches him and presses up on her tiptoes to kiss him in greeting. " _Hi_." She says it right against his lips, barely a whisper of breath that flows right into him and she feels, more than hears, the way he shudders and melts into her presence.

"Hi," he echoes back just as quietly as they part. "Did you have a good time with Thea?"

"I did," she tells him. If she sounds a little surprised by realizing that, it's because she is. She's not sure exactly what she'd expected from their shopping trip. It had begun as a necessity, after all. But she really had enjoyed spending time with her soon-to-be sister-in-law. She's a whirlwind, but in a good way. And, ever since their journey through Oliver's mind, she's felt so much closer to the other girl, so firmly bonded. They've known each other for years, but this friendship between them is both new and strangely solid. She's quite glad for it. "Thea must have been a personal shopper in her last life."

Oliver chuckles at that as he pulls her seat out for her and keeps his hand on her back as she sits. "She'd surely be good at it," he agrees, rounding the table to sit across from her.

His hand finds hers beneath the tablecloth almost immediately, like he's been itching to touch her and the lack of physical connection has left him incomplete. She gets that. Something inside her slots into place as the feel of his calloused fingers running along the back of her hand.

Felicity opens her mouth to say something, but falls quiet when a server approaches from behind Oliver to take their order. They make it fast. She waves off the idea of any more champagne - she's had enough today while shopping with Thea - and settles quickly on a vegetarian eggs benedict with a fruit salad. Oliver goes for the crab cakes. And, soon enough, they're alone again. Or… as alone as they can be in a restaurant like this.

They're far from unnoticed by the other diners, but then she supposes that was a big part of the point in them coming here. They're meant to be noticed. For as often as they try to operate in the shadows as Team Arrow, she isn't so accustomed to having this many eyes on her.

Part of her wonders what they see.

"How'd things go with Maxim?" she asks, focusing wholly on Oliver and ignoring the feel of so many eyes on her. Distracting herself from them is easier than it should be, between Oliver and some terrific coffee she's got more than enough to occupy her focus.

"Good…" Oliver answers, but his voice is tight and she's not entirely sure she believes him. She quirks her head to the side, smiling at him from behind her coffee cup. "It was okay," he amends. "I can't exactly pretend he was happy to see me."

"Bet he'll be happy to see your money, though," Felicity notes, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look.

"I'll bet he is," Oliver replies with a laugh. _Oh_ , but she loves the sound of that, the way his voice lightens and his eyes crinkle. "He won't be nearly as happy by the time we leave."

No, she silently agrees. He won't. If everything goes according to plan - and it has to go according to plan - they'll rescue her mother, prevent her from being framed, stop a heist, prevent a mob war and bring down both Maxim and the Bertinellis… somehow. She's a little foggy on how exactly they're going to do that right now, but the path ahead is clear anyhow.

The food arrives a moment later and they talk as they eat, switching back and forth between quiet, personal things and minor details about the local mob and New Vegas in general. Maybe it should be surprising how easily they slip between both aspects of the conversation, how easily it all melds together as one, but it isn't. It isn't because this is _them_. They are Oliver and Felicity and they are The Arrow and Overwatch and a Bratva captain and his mob wife. They are all of these things and neither of them allows any one facet of who they are to define the whole.

Felicity's meal is beyond delicious. That's probably not surprising given how often they get fresh ingredients while out in space, but it still makes her close her eyes and sigh in delight every now and then as she eats. Every time she opens her eyes back up, Oliver's staring back at her with the happiest, most lovesick gaze she can imagine. The sight of it makes her feel like she could fly. Her heart quickens and the smile that lights up her face is full and genuine.

It absolutely draws them both more attention. That kind of joy is infectious and impossible to fake.

"We should get going," Oliver tells her as she pushes aside a bit of melon from her fruit cup to scoop up the last strawberry. Her benedict is long gone and her coffee is empty. "It's killing me that your neck is bare right now."

She immediately touches her throat without even thinking about it and her breath catches as he stares longingly right where her fingers sit. Honestly, this isn't something she's ever given much thought to, buying expensive necklaces. She's not really a jewelry fan, but she _is_ a fan of that look on Oliver's face.

"Okay," she agrees, clearing her throat as he gestures to the waiter for their check. "But this isn't going to be a regular thing. You know that, right? I don't need a safe full of diamonds I don't wear except for once in a blue moon."

"I know," he smiles at her as he takes the bill and scribbles something in for a tip, putting the charge on their room yet again. "But a few nice pieces for the right occasion don't seem excessive."

It wouldn't to him. Even contemplating how many credits people spend on this kind of luxury makes her head spin a bit, though.

But there's a point to this, so she nods with a hesitant smile as he stands and straightens his suit jacket before reaching for her hand. Damn, but he looks good today. He looks good _every_ day, but he'd put on his best suit before going to meet Maxim and it fits him so perfectly, so precisely…

She sighs in quiet contentment before standing and taking his hand gently, allowing him to lead her from the restaurant.

Everyone watches. She can feel dozens of eyes on her - at least it seems that way - but Oliver pays them no heed. Oh, he's _aware_ of them. She knows that much. Oliver is always keenly aware of his surroundings. But they couldn't possibly know that, because he gives no outward indication of noting them in the least.

Felicity doesn't have that luxury. She spies a friend of her mom's working on the far side of the room. She's known Holly since she was in braces and she can't possibly pretend not to see her. It's probably the wrong move, given everything, but she smiles directly at the waitress and gives a little wave. The dumbfounded look on Holly's face is accompanied by a hesitant wiggle of fingers back at her, like she's doing something she's not sure she's supposed to. But that's _ridiculous_ because Holly used to help her study with flashcards for her civics class.

Still… she isn't little Felicity Smoak anymore, is she? She isn't twelve and sitting at the bar downing chili cheese fries with one hand while she scribbles notes in the margins of her textbooks with the other. She's Felicity-almost-Queen and she's holding hands with a billionaire, wearing an outfit that surely costs more than her mother's monthly rent and heading right now to go buy a necklace that will be worth more than her life savings.

"You okay?" Oliver asks her, clearly picking up on her inner turmoil. He'd definitely seen her wave to Holly. He has to know as well as she does that even acknowledging the wait staff does nothing to help them set up the persona they need to have here. But he's not chastising, not judging. He's just supportive. He's just _Oliver_. And despite her hesitance that surrounds having any part of belonging to the upper echelon of high society, that is more than enough to remind her that he's worth it.

"I'm great," she tells him. And she means it. Her eyes soften as they search his gaze and her fingers tighten around his hand. "After this is all over, I have a few people I should probably introduce you to."

"I'd love that," he replies. His voice is almost eager at the idea and it makes her heart thud louder. He loves all of her, her past included, and he's always so joyful at the idea of getting to see more glimpses of her life before him. Maybe that's reason enough to share more parts of it with him. There's nothing she likes quite as much as his smile.


	50. Chapter 50

Their walk to the jewelry store doesn't take long at all - it's in the same row of shops she'd been to with Thea - but it barely feels like a store at all. There are no display windows, no artfully arranged strands of pearls on black velvet to show off their wares. No, there's just a name above a solid wood door and a doorbell, which Oliver rings.

It's not more than a moment before a short older man with a beak-like nose and sharp rectangular glasses opens the door. Or, at least, he opens part of the door. The shopkeeper is still behind an ornately gilded set of bars that are clearly meant to distract from the obviously bullet-proof glass that remains between them and the shop.

"Oh… Mister Queen," the man notes in surprise, hurrying to undo several locks. "We weren't expecting you, sir."

"You know him?" Felicity asks in a low murmur.

"No," Oliver counters with a tiny smile before looking back toward the man loftily. "I didn't call ahead," he informs him. "But I wanted to pick out something special for my fiancée."

"But of course, sir," the man says, finally getting the door open and nodding deferentially as he gestures for them to come in. "We are most pleased to welcome you, today."

The 'we' in question seems to be just him as the shop itself has no other occupants nor does it look much like any jewelry shop Felicity has ever been in. Oh, there are a couple of display cases around, each sparsely populated with what are undoubtedly priceless pieces, but it becomes evident the moment the door is locked behind them that this isn't the room they're staying in.

"My name is Claude Singleton, sir. And it is my honor to have you and your lovely fiancée as our guests today."

"Thank you, Claude. I'm looking to start Felicity's collection in earnest," he replies, stroking his thumb along the curve of her waist and not even sparing a look around the shop. "I'm thinking something of heirloom quality."

The word 'heirloom' sends a bit of a jolt through Felicity, because even if this is sort of for show, it's also sort of not and she knows Oliver means this part. He means to buy her things they'll pass down to their children. He means for them to have children. The very thought of that makes excitement surge through her and her pulse race, even if it also makes her kind of want to laugh in hysteria. She wants that with him, but it's also so mind-blowingly real, so intensely realized right in front of her, and a big part of her had thought for a very long time that they'd never get anywhere near here in their relationship.

Claude's excitement runs on a different level entirely to hers, of course. He surely makes commission and this will be a windfall for him.

"Well… let's have a bit of a tour, shall we?" he asks, leading them toward yet another door.

"Shouldn't we…" Felicity starts, nodding her head toward one of the cases. There isn't much there, really, but from where she stands it all looks lovely. And, if they're going to be buying something, she'd kind of like to take a look.

Oliver smiles, looking more amused by her than she understands at first glance. "Not those, honey," he tells her.

"Oh," she says, glancing back toward a necklace with a pendant that looks like a daisy made out of some kind of gemstones. She'd actually sort of liked that one.

"Those are more… everyday," he clarifies, kissing her temple and holding her close. "We can look at those too, if you want."

Claude waits patiently nearby, unobtrusive in a way that salespeople for luxury products seem to have mastered. Felicity notices him anyhow. She grew up firmly on his side of the register.

"No," she tells Oliver, looking up at him and leaning in a bit as she rests a hand on his chest. "I know why you want to buy me this one thing, but I don't need… all of this. I just need you. That's all."

The soft crinkling around his eyes, the way he stares at her in quiet adoration, it makes the rest of the 'verse fade away, leaves just them locked in a connection to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.

"You've got me," he tells her in a voice meant for her ears alone. "Always. Forever."

"Good," she smiles, pressing up on her toes to kiss him softly. As it so often does, the kiss takes on a life of its own. It's gentle, but genuine, rife with affection and a heat that simmers beneath the surface. They linger, maybe a beat longer than is really appropriate, but they're newly engaged and Felicity figures if ever there's a time to shuck concerns over appropriate levels of semi-public affection, this is probably it.

"Come on," he says when they part, taking a small step back and grabbing hold of her hand gently. "Let's see if we can find something suitable for the future Mrs. Felicity Queen."

If her heart jumps at hearing those words leave his lips as she follows him toward the back room of the shop, she feels like that's wholly understandable.

She and Oliver sit side-by-side in plush, oversized wingback chairs. She waves off the offer of champagne - she's simply had enough today; it seems like she's been offered alcohol everywhere she's gone - and there's a flicker of understanding in the salesman's eye that makes her choke on air.

"No, that's… We aren't… I'm not," Felicity sputters in denial to the unspoken assumption. But she can already see all of her arguments to the counter will be met with genial but unconvinced agreement. "You know what? Give me the champagne. I'm starting to think I might need it."

That, if nothing else, looks like it sways the salesman and he gives a deferential little nod before heading through another door to fetch them drinks.

"Breathe, honey," Oliver says, his hand settling over hers on the armrest. He sounds amused and that's absurd because she's so on edge right now that it's out of this world. The amount of money they're about to spend is mind-boggling. The fact that her mother is missing - taken - is gut-wrenching. The notion that people are apparently going to assume she's pregnant whenever she turns down a drink is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it's more-or-less the straw that breaks the camel's back and she has to take a moment, gripping his fingers and shutting her eyes as she sucks in a deep breath, forcing herself to center.

It works. Somehow.

As always, Oliver is something like a lifeline. The warmth of his hand against hers is more than physical and his grip is strength of several sorts. She lets it suffuse her, ground her, settle the riot of nerves welling up within her gut.

"You okay?" he murmurs quietly, after a moment.

"Yes," she nods. "Yes, I'm just… There's a lot going on."

It feels a little like a cop-out, but it's true. They've been running on empty for months now, it seems, and the memory of their little cave in the wilderness is suddenly so clear in her head. That walk they'd taken just before finding the hot springs, that moment when he'd paused, looked over the landscape and talked about the vacations of his childhood, the kind they'd one day take together… it seems like they could use that about now.

And maybe they'll do that soon. They deserve it. But not yet.

There's a glass of champagne in her hand before she even recognizes the salesman is back and she takes a slightly-more-than-healthy-sized swig immediately. The bubbles tickle at her throat but they also manage to root her even further in the moment, hone her in to what's happening.

Claude brings out pieces one by one, presenting them all with knowledge and flare. Oliver seems to know what the other man is saying and guides him some toward what exactly he has in mind. To their credit, they both keep looking to her for input. She's never once left feeling like a used ship salesman is overlooking her in favor of the man at her side, but she also has very little contribution to make to the whole conversation.

Carats and clarity were always her mother's forte, not hers, and she's still a bit overwhelmed by all of this.

But then, of course, a piece catches her eye. She sort of has to pretend the gemstones are fake because there's a lot of them and she can't begin to calculate the amount of credits the necklace would cost, but it's unique and something about it appeals to her greatly.

Oliver notices immediately. Of course he does, he notices everything about her.

"Try it on," he suggests. It's silly, but she hesitates. Oliver, however, is clearly excited to have found something she likes and he's anything but hesitant. "Here," he says, picking up the piece and rounding the chair to stand behind her. Claude just smiles. He's well aware he's made this sale, even if Felicity hasn't quite acknowledged that yet.

She shivers slightly as Oliver brushes her hair to the side, letting his fingers linger against her skin as he puts the necklace on her. There's not a clasp to fasten. It's more of an incomplete choker than anything else, a wrap of green gemstones that's open against one clavicle, dangling slightly like a question mark at the hollow of her throat. The weight of it is oddly comfortable and the look in Oliver's eyes when he rounds the chair to soak in the sight of her in the necklace utterly steals her breath away.

She doesn't even need to look in a mirror. The look in his eyes is reflection enough for her.

"I thought you wanted diamonds?" she asks. If her voice is a bit airy, she feels like that's situationally appropriate.

"They are," Oliver tells her, dragging his eyes from her neck to her face.

"But they're green?" she questions, looking to Claude.

"Green diamonds, ma'am," Claude tells her. "And, if I may say so, they suit you beautifully."

"We'll take it," Oliver announces as she touches her fingers to the hollow of her throat.

"Oliver…" Nerves rush over her again. No one has so much as hinted at the cost behind this.

"It's perfect," Oliver tells her, leaning in and cupping her jaw as he kisses her. "It's perfect and I want you to have it. I want to see you wear it."

This is for her mother, she tells herself. This is for their mission. And it is. That's what gets her to nod at him in agreement, but she knows it's also more than that. She doesn't need things and she's going to have to reiterate that to him a few times before it sinks it, she thinks. That's okay. She has time and it's not like she's going to allow this to become a habit.

It's a bit over the top, but she's not exactly wearing the same outfit now that she was last night, so Felicity wears the necklace out into the casino after Oliver charges it to his room. She still doesn't know how much it costs - they've carefully avoided discussing that, because they both seem aware of how likely she is to balk at the price tag - but Claude slips Oliver his business card, which is probably very smart on his part.

Were she with anyone else in the 'verse, Felicity would probably feel incredibly uneasy wearing untold riches in public. How much of a target does that make her? Security is good at a place like this but nowhere is perfect. Yeah, she'll be most comfortable wearing this and only this in the privacy of their own room. But… Oliver at her side is security enough for now. In spite of how often they're in danger together, she always feels safe with him.

Felicity knows this casino well, remembers its layout and where the more well-to-do crowd tends to gather. But, she's still surprised when Oliver steers her toward the high roller rooms rather than the general floor of the casino. The need to be seen does not, apparently, extend to the general public. They need to be visible as a ritzy, unreachable pair. It doesn't suit her well, but Oliver wears the persona like a mask he's donned for years. She supposes, in a lot of ways, he has.

"How much do you want me to win?" she mutters quietly to him as he cashes in some credits for chips.

Even asking that leaves her feeling antsy, but she sort of needs to know and they haven't discussed it.

The look he gives her is equal parts confusion and amusement. "Just play for a bit," he tells her, like she's being ridiculous, like he doesn't care if she wins or loses or how much. Which… he probably doesn't when she thinks about it.

"You sure about that?" she asks, eyeing the chips. It's not a small pile.

"Have fun," he smiles, kissing her temple. "I'll be your good luck charm."

She scoffs a little at that, but smiles happily as they take a spot at the table. There are only three in the room and everyone there is absurdly noteworthy. She recognizes a few faces from her days as an adolescent waiting for her mom. She recognizes others from Oliver's life, both targets and allies, old acquaintances and family friends. He navigates them with ease, equal parts casually catching up and proudly showing her off. He makes a point to introduce her to a few people and they're the ones she knows to take note of - an old friend of his mother's, a business associate of his father's, a politician he seems to actually like. It's dizzying being a part of this side of his life, but it's made easier by watching him, how easily he handles it all, how exceptional he is in this way, like in so many others.

But Oliver and his charms aren't the biggest distraction in the room, for once. Neither are the games of Blackjack themselves - she can do that in her sleep.

No, the most distracting thing is the Earth That Was artifact on display.

It's in the middle of the table, sunk beneath the glass that's flush with the felt tabletop, ostentatiously on display for the richest of the rich. She can't even begin to guess at the security measures for it. They have to be substantial, but they're also well hidden.

The artifact itself, though… it makes her breath catch in her throat and she's sure Oliver knows why because he chuckles lowly and rubs a hand across her back. But… yeah, it's pretty wow.

It's a motherboard, a slice of technology from before and oh what she wouldn't do to get her hands on that thing. It's archaic, of course, but just to look it over, play with it a bit… the very idea makes giddiness bubble up inside her.

Or it does until she pays a bit closer attention to the details of it.

She loses that hand of blackjack, even though she shouldn't have because the reality of what she's seeing is just too big.

Blinking hard, she wonders for a moment if she's seeing things. But she knows she's not and her whole body tenses up, something Oliver notices immediately.

"Last hand?" he suggests. "We need to see about arrangements for securing your jewelry before we meet with my sister later."

"Yes," she agrees quickly. She loses the hand nearly as fast before tipping the dealer and smiling tightly at the woman to her right who Oliver had purposefully introduced her to. The ramifications of what she's seen are heavy, but alarming anyone around her or being rude to an old friend of her deceased soon-to-be mother-in-law would be poor form.

Oliver, too, takes a moment to say his goodbyes, making plans to have drinks with one contact, if time allows, and promising to wave another. But it isn't long before he's leading her from the room again and the second they're in the hall out of earshot he pulls her close, looking down at her with concern.

"What is it?" he asks. "What did you see?"

She hesitates before answering, searching his face and finding the connection she needs to soldier on.

"The artifact," she tells him after a beat. "Oliver… it's a fake."

It's like her words don't make sense to him. His brow furrows and he blinks at her as he tries to process what she's saying. She can't blame him for that. It barely makes sense to her and she can't even begin to fathom the implications of her words.

"What do you mean?" he asks, searching her eyes for clarification.

She swallows hard, looking to the sides to make sure there's no one nearby and leaning in further toward him. It's unnecessary, really. But she craves the sense of security he offers her, the steadying force of his presence. And he's so ready and willing to give it, so she soaks in the way his hands rub against her upper arms, the way he barely moves, barely angles toward her, but still leaves her feeling like he's enveloping her in his warmth.

"It's a good fake," she tells him. "Don't get me wrong. It took me a few minutes to notice, but it's wrong. The power connector is a pre-war prototype from ASC that was developed at the New Burbank facility. It didn't work right and it was never mass produced, but I had a professor who worked on the project and he used it as an example of what not to do. Style over substance is a bad plan anywhere, but it's worst in technology."

"You're sure?" he asks. His fingers curl around her arms, thumbs stroking at the whisper-thin material of her blouse. The heat of his palms bleeds right through the fabric and drives away the chill that's been living beneath her skin since she realized what it was she'd seen back in that room.

She nods. "What does it mean? Was it always fake? Are we too late? Did they already steal it? What about my mom? Is she okay? Is she-" Felicity can't even finish that thought, can't begin to contemplate anything happening to her mother.

They aren't terribly close, haven't been in many years - her late teens had left her chafing to escape New Vegas, her mom, and the very casino she's standing in now. They haven't had much at all to relate to each other about and Felicity hasn't shared much of her life with her mother. Some of that is due to necessity - she can't tell her mom about her Team Arrow work - and some of it is just that her mom isn't capable of understanding the intricacies of the work she does. They love each other, but it's in a distant way… which is something that Felicity is fast starting to regret.

Does her mom know? Does she have any idea how much she respects her? How many of the sacrifices she'd made as a single mom Felicity can see more clearly now, given space and the time to grow up? It's a strange thing to bring up, to acknowledge her own biases and childhood selfishness, and Felicity had always figured she'd have more time to have those hard conversations with her mom because she deserved to know… She does deserve to know. God, she can't start thinking about her mom in the past tense. She can't.

"Hey, don't jump to conclusions," Oliver counsels her, his hands abandoning her arms to pull her close. His lips find her forehead easily as one of his hands spans nearly the whole of her back. It settles her some immediately, as much as anything can anyhow, and she finds she doesn't know what she'd do in this situation without Oliver at her side. She's not sure she could cope at all. "We need to get a look at the security tapes and we've got to find out what kind of protections they have in place for the fake artifacts. All we've learned today is that we need more information, but we know where to get it, okay? Can you hack their security?"

"Yes," she nods hesitantly, looking up at him, but not backing up in the least. Distance from him is the last thing she wants right now. "I can… I have actually. High school prank just to prove I could. It was dumb. I got caught, though, and they upgraded their security because of it. I poked around a few more times in college just to see what they'd done. And I did get some surveillance when we were on our way, trying to figure out a timeline on my mom but that was all easily accessible stuff. What we need is going to be more secured than that. The high roller rooms are kept on a different server with a lot more protections in place. I'm pretty sure I can still get in, but… Oliver, I don't think I can do it without them noticing and that's a problem all on its own."

There's no question that he's aware of that. The Bratva detecting a hack at their casino is not something that would work in their favor and might well get them all killed. Hell, this entire thing is riddled with problems that could have dire consequences at every turn. It's overwhelming. She's overwhelmed. But she's also not alone.

"What if you had direct access?" he asks, licking his lips as he thinks. "What if we could get you to the security computers instead of having to do it remotely? Could you lift the information without getting caught then?"

She pauses to think that over. Long story short, she's not sure and that's kind of an issue unto itself.

"Maybe?" she ventures. "I'll need to get access to know for sure."

"Well…" Oliver tells her with a pensive, raised eyebrow and a long breath of air blown through his thinned lips. "Let's get you access then."

Hesitance and terror must be obvious on her face because Oliver abandons his hold on her to cup her face. The sense of peace he gives her so easily is absolutely incredible and she finds her eyes slipping shut at the gentle touch of his calloused fingers to her skin.

"I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and bring your mother home," he vows, his voice heavy and rich with depth that resonates intensely. "And we will figure this out. I promise you that. Do you understand?"

She bites her lips together and nods, not trusting her voice. She hears him clearly, though.

There's more than one way to say 'I love you.'

Sliding her arms up around his neck, she tugs him down slightly to meet her lips. His hands never leave her face as they both find themselves in each other, a quiet moment of intense affection that feels like it breathes hope and life right into her. They have done the impossible together so many times before, beat unbeatable odds, and this might be daunting but they'll be fine. Because they are so much better together than either one of them is on their own. They are so much more than the sum of their parts.

"Okay," she agrees, unable to resist pressing another fast kiss to his lips after they part. "Okay, let's go find out what we're up against."

His hand falls away from her face and settles against the small of her back. He's meant every word he's said, about his confidence in their success and his determination to protect her, but he still seems like he needs to maintain contact with her at every opportunity. Some of that is the freedom to revel in their newly forged commitment to each other, but a lot of it is protectiveness and she knows it. There is nothing about this situation that he likes and he'd much prefer to have them both far away from the Bratva right now.

As it turns out, he'd already talked to the hotel management - probably Maxim himself - about needing to store some valuables in the hotel vault and security is expecting their visit.

This kind of thing isn't exactly common, but it's not unheard of either. Felicity's well aware that the well-to-do often demand the very highest security for their valuables. And, the more money that person has, the more they're likely to get what they want. Add to that Oliver's last name and his ties to the Bratva and… well, it's really not surprising in the least that security all but falls over themselves to assure him that their protections are the best in the 'verse.

For once, it plays to their advantage that the Bratva is essentially an old boys' club. Little attention is paid to Felicity. She's as much an ornament to be protected and locked away as the the gems around her neck to these goons. And they are Bratva goons. She hadn't really seen that growing up, but it's so terribly obvious now. It makes her wonder what else she missed.

But there's no time to dwell on that. Not now. Not when they're in the security headquarters and she can actually get an eyeful of their systems while Oliver commands the room.

You'd think after what happened on Solntsevskaya, Maxim would know better than to underestimate her, but it seems like he's just not that bright.

He is, apparently, bright enough to make his higher end systems fully inaccessible without a whole lot of time or a series of passwords she doesn't have. There's no way she's getting into these records right now. Not without detection and she's got no idea how to go about it without getting busted from elsewhere later.

Which is why her mother was taken, she realizes. If she's right and it's her dad who kidnapped her, he's at least as good a hacker as Felicity is. He wouldn't have taken his ex-wife and engaged in a far more complex plan for a bunch of technological antiques if he'd been able to hack his way in.

So, Felicity tries another tactic, thinks on her feet and adjusts her strategy.

"Honey, I'm just not sure I'm comfortable with this," she says loudly, grabbing Oliver's sleeve and earning his surprised glance. He recovers quickly, though, schooling his face to hide his reaction. "I mean, it sounds great and all, but how secure is it really? I need more proof than a manual about the safe, you know?"

"Miss…" the head of security starts. When he doesn't say her name, she realizes he never even stopped to learn it. He'd been too honed in on Oliver to take note of a woman as anything more than a lovely accessory. The jerk. "I assure you, your valuables will be absolutely untouchable here."

She sighs dramatically. "I need more than words. If I'm going to trust you to protect my heirlooms, I need to see it. What's the most valuable thing you've had to safeguard lately? Cash deposits? Because that's a different thing entirely and incredibly routine for you, I'd think."

"No," the security chief counters. Pridefulness tinges his faint Russian accent, bringing it out more and he raises his chin to look down on her as he speaks. "The displays would be a better comparison and much more difficult. They are protected in plain sight."

"Then tell me about that," she demands. "Show me how you protect them."

The security chief laughs nervously and looks from her to Oliver like surely he knows she's being ridiculous, but Oliver, of course, simply stares back at the man with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I cannot possibly show you that," he elaborates, his smile falling away. "You've got to be aware that's an impossibility."

"Honey, maybe we should just go to another hotel," Felicity says, turning fully to face Oliver and tugging at his arm as she blinks up at him with big eyes that he knows are a ploy but Security Jerk does not. "I need to feel like our things are safe and so does everyone else on our ship. Your sister said most of the top floor at the New York is available. She wanted to stay there anyhow."

"Wait," Security Jerk says quickly. She's made him nervous. Good. "I can't show you the protections in place for the artifacts, but I can show you everything we did to secure them as we brought them in. It should give you an idea of the measure we'll go to. How does that sound?"

Ideal, in Felicity's head. It sounds ideal.

It takes actual effort to suppress an instinctive fist pump of triumph.

"That should work," she says with a blasé shrug instead.

Oliver squeezes her shoulder in some sort of show of solidarity or congratulations as the security chief accesses the system records. Watching him do that is a lesson on their security unto itself. It's even more complex than she'd thought and there's no way she'd have had time to break through all those levels of encryption and firewalls. Not with her mom missing and the time table they're dealing with.

They're down to a day and a half until Anatoly gets here, after all… give or take.

"Here," Security Jerk tells her, turning the monitor and standing back up, crossing his arms in triumphant haughtiness. "Watch what we did. My men are well-trained and our systems are state of the art. If we can be trusted with priceless antiques we can absolutely safeguard the necklace of a Bratva woman."

His words barely register, though, because she's too busy taking in the action on the screen in front of her. There's a flurry of armed guards swarming the area and multiple trucks with fake payloads. There's a dampening system killing any wireless electronics and she can see a jammer in place, too. It's impressive. Their security is solid, which is going to be a problem for them on several levels, but that's not actually the thing that captures her attention right now.

"Can you zoom in?" she requests. "On the artifacts. I want a closer look at boxes you used for them. They're armed, right?"

"Rigged electronically," Security Jerk agrees as he zooms in. "They give a big jolt to anyone not meant to be touching them."

Because the handlers for the artifacts were wearing gloves meant to absorb the electric shock, she realizes. More to the point, she also realizes that the clear boxes these artifacts were transported in are likely the same ones they're stored in within the viewing windows of the blackjack and poker tables.

A motherboard, a calculator, a car engine, a radio and an intact drone with its controls.

The artifacts might not look like much to most people out on the rim planets where she spends most of her time these days, but technological artifacts are amongst the most sought after by the well-to-do and Felicity knows - _knows_ \- that if these were real they'd be worth enough money to make her head spin.

But she's seen them.

They're not.

"I'm satisfied by this," she tells the security chief, brushing her hair to the side as Oliver's hands go to her neck in an instant to help her remove the jewelry. "Thank you for taking my concerns so seriously."

"Of course," he replies. Man, she hates the smug look on his face, but she ignores that distaste as Oliver hands over the jewelry. They watch the security chief lock it away in a box similar to those used for the artifacts, before stowing it in a complex and impressively-sized safe in the office.

Felicity frankly can't get out of there fast enough after that. Her head is spinning with possibilities and the question of what to do next.

"Hey," Oliver says practically right against her ear as they leave the room and stop a few dozen feet down the hall with no one in sight. "What happened? What did you see?"

"They've been fakes the whole time, Oliver," she tells him. "From the very beginning. The Italian mob is paying off a Bratva captain to kill the Pakhan using counterfeit antiques being guarded like the crown jewels and someone who clearly doesn't know they're fake has kidnapped my mom to try and get access to steal them."

The implications are staggering. They can't go to Maxim, even if he believed them about the antiques being forged, he'd kill them for figuring out his gambit. They can't leave it alone because the minute Anatoly gets here he's going to have a target on his back. And they can't let the kidnappers figure out the artifacts aren't real because then what will they do with her mom? She's increasingly questioning her guess that the kidnapper is her father. After all, he has an even keener eye for technology than her.

"Oliver… what do we do?" she asks, looking up at him in desperate hope for an answer. "How do we fix this?"

He hesitates before answering, but when he does, she knows he's right. She knows it's the only route they can take. But she also knows that it's even more dangerous than their usual brand of missions.

"We're going to have to steal it first," he tells her. "We're going to have to take it before anyone else tries to and we've got no more than 36 hours to do it."


End file.
